


Where Everybody Knows Your Name

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bartender Niall, M/M, Slow Burn, Vet Zayn, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship, Zayn Malik & Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well boys,” he says, scratching at Harley’s head. Rhino barks at that, and Zayn obliges him by petting him too. Apparently, that means that he’s showing too much attention to the dogs, and Tigger appears from wherever she’d been hiding, taking her rightful place in his lap. “And girl,” Zayn adds, politely. “Guess we’re back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Everybody Knows Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> I have no authority about a) veterinary medicine and/or practice, b) running or owning a pub, or c) the UK and the living therein, so basically I know nothing about anything in this fic and I apologize for all of the (I'm sure many) inaccuracies. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

The pub looks like it always has. Zayn drags a finger over the polished wood of the bar, the rich oak that his grandfather had polished every day, like clockwork. He’d watched that more times than he could count growing up, spinning on a barstool and watching his grandfather rub the cloth over the countertop. He hadn’t realized why he’d done it, then; he’d thought his grandfather was just being old-fashioned. He thinks he gets it now—the comfort of the familiar. Of routine. Of things always being the same, things you can count on. Or maybe he just wishes he could sit here and watch his grandfather polish the bar, one more time.

“Hey, mate.” The bartender’s got an Irish accent, an easy smile, and dyed blonde hair. Dyed blonde, not a natural blonde, Zayn categorizes unconsciously, nothing like hers. She won’t haunt him here.

More surprising than any of that, though, is that Zayn doesn’t think he knows the bartender. He must be new. Zayn didn’t think people came here, rather than never leaving. He might have just forgotten him, though. It’s been a long time since he’s been back. But Zayn had thought he knew all the bartenders here, at least. Hadn’t expected things to change at Walter’s. “Want a drink?”

“Um.” Zayn glances around. It’s early yet, only three; the lunch crowd’s gone and the happy hour crowd hasn’t shown up yet. No one much is there, just a person or two in the corner, people with their heads down so they’re barely recognizable as awake. No one who recognizes him, apparently. Clearly the bartender doesn’t, which at least makes Zayn feel better about possibly forgetting him. “Nah, like. Bit early, isn’t it?”

“You’re the one in the pub now,” the bartender points out. Zayn snorts.

“So’re you.”

“It’s my job.” The bartender grins. He’s got a nice smile. Bright and easy. Pretty blue eyes, too. Bluer than hers. Without the pity that hers had, the last time he saw her. Not that he’s thinking about her. “What’s your excuse?”

“Excuse?”

“What brings someone like you in here on a Tuesday afternoon?”

“Someone like me?” Zayn repeats, his eyes narrowing. Small towns. He’d forgotten.

But the bartender just laughs. “Someone who looks like you, I mean.”

“Looks like me?” Zayn echoes again, his eyebrows rising. He’d always been different here, in this little town, but he’d forgotten after London’s diversity. Forgotten that having white grandparents didn’t always mean you fit in. Even if there doesn’t seem to be any malice in the bartender, it doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Or even any well meaning policing.

“Nah, not—I meant that you look like the sort of person who’d have important things to do on a Tuesday afternoon, that’s all.” The bartender grins easily. “Take it as a compliment, meant you look not like a bum.” He leans forward, bracing his arms on the bar. He’s got nice arms, Zayn notices, half guiltily. He has no reason to be guilty, he knows. But he feels it anyway. For noticing the bartender’s arms. For it looking so off to see him behind the bar, rather than Zayn’s grandfather or one of the other bartenders Zayn was used to. He wonders if they’re still around, and who’s in the back, if it’s the same cook it was when he left. He should probably know that. Should probably be more worried about that than the guilt of noticing the bartender’s arms.

But Zayn has no reason for feeling guilty about flirting with a bartender with nice arms, Zayn reminds himself. Not anymore. So he leans forward too, letting his lips curl in the way he knows people like. The way she had always thought was so—he cuts himself off there. “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

The bartender chuckles, and pushes his hair back from his face. “Now I know you’re new here, because if you weren’t you’d know there aren’t many boys around who’d appreciate that being said to them. My mate Harry, I guess, and a few others, but not many.”

“I’m not new,” Zayn admits. “Coming back, more. I remember that.” He remembers that perfectly well. Probably remembers Niall’s mate Harry, back from when he was Zayn’s mate Harry. Or back when they weren’t just mates.

“Can’t resist the lure of our beer?” the bartender jokes, and like that Zayn’s laughing. He hasn’t laughed this much since—well, for months. Two, to be exact.

“Or something,” he agrees.

The bartender grins at him, like making Zayn laugh is something to be proud of. “Pulls you in, though. I never thought I’d be here long, but I stuck, at least.”

Zayn glances around the pub. So much the same as when he was here last, finally old enough to be in here properly, after too long of his grandparents’ friends slipping him drinks when they thought they could get away with it. Still the same oak paneling, the same green upholstery on the booths, the same scroll woodwork. The same lights even, casting a dim gold light over the whole place. The same jukebox, where Zayn’d learned to appreciate all the music he still loves.

“Here I am,” Zayn agrees. He thinks he should be depressed about it. But after so much, being back here is the least of his failures. If this works, he wouldn’t mind being here, he thinks. He was happy here before, as a kid. He could be again.

“Have you been here before, then?” The bartender’s started to rub at the bar, scrubbing at something near him. It’s a stain that he won’t get out, Zayn knows—it’s been there since he’d spilled the paint he’d been playing with there twenty years ago. “Here specifically, I mean, at Walter’s”

“Yeah. Spent a lot of time here.”

“Legend.” The bartender grins again. It doesn’t seem to take much to make him do that. “Not much has changed, I hear. Walter wasn’t big on change.” Zayn winces, and the bartender’s smile falls. “Sorry, did you know him?”

“Yeah.” Zayn swallows. This is the moment when Zayn says it. I’m his grandson. You must not have seen me at the funeral. I was the one alone there. Who held his sisters’ hands and let them cry on my shoulder and couldn’t cry myself. Who was too cried out from everything else. But once he says that, he knows that the bartender will look at him differently. He’ll have heard about everything, Zayn bets. The pity will set in. The mockery. All the shit Zayn just wants to avoid.

“Sorry.” The bartender’s face is solemn again. “He was a good man.”

“The best.” Zayn’s not going to cry, he’s not. He’s done crying, ready to start doing. To make Walter proud of him, to make everyone proud.

“And a good boss,” the bartender continues. “He was pretty alone, I think, after his wife died and his kids moved away.” Great, more guilt. Just want Zayn needs. It wasn’t his fault his family moved, he knows. But it was that he didn’t get back here more often after that. He’d been busy, and he knows his grandfather’d known it and hadn’t begrudged him for it, but he should have come here more. “Though he always had this place. It’s a good place.” The bartender pats the bar like it’s a pet. Walter’d used to touch the bar like that too. “Don’t know what’s going to happen to it now.”

“Oh?” Zayn manages to get out.

“Yeah. His grandson inherited it, but he’s up in London, I don’t know what he’s going to do with it. People say he’s coming back to look at it, maybe keep it going, but that won’t be the same.” Zayn takes a breath. It’s not false, he guesses. He doesn’t know. He just has to figure it out. “I don’t know why he’d come back anyway, he’s busy in London. Getting married, or breaking up, or something.” Clearly the bartender hadn’t heard the latest gossip. Zayn’s surprised. He’d thought everyone would know.

“Maybe he’ll get the hang of it.”

“He is supposed to be smart,” the bartender allows. “Or that’s what his grandfather said. Might have been biased. My grandda claimed I could be a world famous musician, but he’s Irish. Might be a lot of blarney there.”

“Walter was Irish too,” Zayn points out, and the bartender laughs.

“Fair point. Guess we’ll never know.”

“Guess not,” Zayn agrees. “I—”

“Niall!” The door to the pub bursts open, and Zayn flinches back, ducking his head a little. It’s like a sudden flashback to too many days to count—Louis Tomlinson bursting into the door, yelling something. He looks like the Facebook photos Zayn sometimes catches—older than the last time Zayn saw him in person, his hair shaggier, his face harder. His clothes are weirdly formal, when Zayn remembers him exclusively in jeans and band t-shirts, but he figures even primary school teachers can’t wear those sort of clothes to work. “Niall, school is out, my son is with his mother for the week, and I need a drink to forget about the way I got bullied by a eight year old.”

“You’re a role model for all children,” The bartender—Niall, apparently—agrees, laughing, but he grabs a glass. Then he turns to the man who came in behind Louis, who Zayn watches with the same familiar pang. “And for you, Liam?”

Liam runs a hand over his head—his hair’s shaved like he had done when they were eighteen. He’s built himself up over the past ten years, little of the baby fat left from when they were kids being pushed around on the playground. But he’s got the same smile that he turns on Niall as he’d had coming out of Batman Begins with Zayn. “Nah, ‘m good. Louis just kidnapped me.” He looks down at his phone, typing something out.

Zayn can just stare, like a deer in headlights. Caught. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to avoid them. He’s not even wearing a jacket with a proper hood. And even if he was, he’s not going to run. Not like that. Not from them.

“I did not kidnap you, I liberated you.” Louis informs Liam, striding forward to lean onto the bar and sliding onto a stool. He starts to spin, the same way he had when they’d been kids. It spins him to the left, then to the right—towards Zayn. “You were done for the day anyway, don’t lie. And I have gossip. I—“ His gaze focuses on Zayn, narrows, and the smile snaps into a scowl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Louis!” Niall mutters. “Be nice to my customers.” He gives Zayn a smile, one that shines right through his eyes. “Especially the hot ones.”

“Customer?” Louis snorts, but there’s the malice Zayn was expecting, the vicious glee. “Oh, no, Niall. This isn’t just any customer. Don’t you recognize your new boss?”

“New boss?” Niall echoes, and Zayn bites his lip. Why the fuck did Louis have to come in now? He’s always got the worst timing. Ever since they were fifteen and he walked in on Zayn and Harry trying to figure out how fingering worked.

Liam’s head jerks up, and he at least is smiling. “Zayn!” He grins. “Didn’t know you were back yet.”

“Just got in.” Zayn takes the hand Liam offers, shakes it firmly. Louis’s still glaring. Niall’s face is white, the smile drained from his face. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, new boss,” Louis interrupts. “The prodigal son, come to claim his ancestral right before he fucks off back to his better life.”

Ten seconds. That’s how long it took for Louis to come for him, after almost a decade of total radio silence. Zayn’s only surprised it took that long. “Prodigal? Ancestral? Learned to read at last, Tommo?” He turns to Niall. “I—” he tries again, but Louis’s cutting him off. His cheeks are red. Zayn hadn’t thought that barb would hit home that hard—he’d never been sensitive about his reading before, been happy to leave that to Zayn while he went off and played footie or whatever other sport he was into that week.

“I’ve had some time, since my time wasn’t taken up being made to listen to stupid music.”

“Really? Much else to do in this town? I guess you wouldn’t know the difference, never known what it’s like living anywhere else.”

“I’m not the one who’s come back,” Louis spits back. They’ve squared off now, Liam glancing between them nervously. There’s something familiar about this too, though they never fought like this before Louis got unnecessarily pissy when Zayn got his acceptance to London. What’s new is Niall, and his wide blue eyes. Zayn’s had enough with blue eyes, recently, so he tries to ignore that. “Big city too big for you, Zaynie?”

“Well, I know where to buy condoms,” Zayn retorts. “Have trouble with that?”

Louis face hardens. Zayn knows he went too far with that, bringing in Louis’s kid, but—but fuck him, Louis started it. And he’s not saying the kid’s bad, but everyone must know he was an accident. Doesn’t mean he’ll be loved less. It doesn’t mean Zayn deserves the glare Liam’s fixed on him now, the narrowing of those blue eyes behind the bar, all traces of a smile gone.

“I hear you can buy condoms in Vegas,” Louis snaps, his lips twisted into a mocking smile. “And rings, too. Better rings than London rings, right?”

“Fuck you.” Zayn shoves away. Of course Louis knows all the details. But he’s not going to cry here. Not going to react. Not going to give Louis that. He’s done mourning. He’s moving on. “I don’t need this,” he snaps, and tugs on his jacket.

He ignores Liam’s quiet, “Zayn,” and storms out of the pub. He doesn’t know what he expected. A welcome? Clearly not, not when Louis’s been in a snit since Zayn apparently betrayed him by leaving, not since Liam followed his lead for months before reaching back out. He doesn’t get a welcome here. He doesn’t need a welcome here. He just needs to make it work, for once. That doesn’t have to mean he has to be happy all the time, or that the men who were once his best friends have to be able to stand him any more.    

Zayn makes it back to the flat he’s renting in no time at all. It never takes time, here. Everything’s close, especially living in town like he is. He’d thought, briefly, about living in his grandparents’ old house, but that would have hurt too much. His mom and his aunts and uncles haven’t cleaned it out yet. He can’t live there, where his grandmother’d used to yell at him for running about too much then had fed him cookies; where his grandfather had listened to him sing and clapped so loudly. This apartment, though small and probably badly heated, is better. Pets are allowed, and the bakery downstairs isn’t too loud, and keeps the heat even at least. That’s all he needs. Just enough to get on his feet again.

Rhino jumps on him as soon as he shuts the door, nosing at his leg. Harley comes more slowly, waiting until Zayn’s on the couch to drop his head onto Zayn’s lap and give him a big eyed look that makes Zayn smile, despite everything.

“Well boys,” he says, scratching at Harley’s head. Rhino barks at that, and Zayn obliges him by petting him too. Apparently, that means that he’s showing too much attention to the dogs, and Tigger appears from wherever she’d been hiding, taking her rightful place n his lap. “And girl,” Zayn adds, politely. “Guess we’re back.”

\---

He doesn’t go back to the pub that night. He probably should see it during peak business hours, so he can figure out what he wants to do with it, but he can’t. Not when the memories of his grandfather are too fresh, not when everyone will stare and probably whisper about him. He’s had that for months, he can’t face it more. He’ll give himself one night. One night to settle in. To try to rid himself of all his ghosts.

So instead, he goes on a long walk through roads that are still back roads with the dogs, watches dusk fall. Then he goes inside, makes himself some ramen, and falls asleep on the couch with a dog on his feet and a cat on his head.

\---

The next morning, everything looks easier. Zayn tries to sleep in, because it’s not like he has work to get to, but the dogs wake him up by eight demanding a walk. He needs some place with a yard, Zayn thinks, as he groans and pulls on sweatpants and a beanie.

He’s outside the flat on his way back when the smell of coffee stops him from going back upstairs. The dogs bark, pulling, but…coffee. Zayn was never the one who made the coffee, hasn’t been able to make himself a proper cup for a while. And this smells good.

Well, Zayn figures, if he lives upstairs from a bakery, he might as well take advantage of it. He ties the dogs up, and goes inside.

It’s a cheery place, bright and open, all done in yellows and florals. He feels a bit too dark for it, even, in his grey sweatpants and the general dark mood he’s been in for months, but, coffee. And no one gives him a second look as he gets in line.

“A mocha latte,” he orders, without looking up from the display case. “And, um. A muffin? Like, whichever one is best.”

“Definitely the banana walnut,” says a familiar voice, and Zayn looks up to see a smile he hasn’t seen in person in years.

“Still like bananas, then?” Zayn asks, and Harry laughs, the same loud raucous thing he’d used to laugh at Zayn’s stupid eyebrow slit, years ago. “Hey, Harry.”

“Hi!” Harry leans over the counter to give him a quick hug. He looks—well, he looks very different than he did at eighteen, more even than his instagram showed. His hair’s longer, down past his shoulders, the curls drawn out; his body’s all lean and broad, nothing like the baby fat and awkward limbs Zayn’d clumsily learned years ago. He’s even hotter now, probably. But he’s got the same dimples in his cheek and the same big green eyes. Zayn just hopes he doesn’t have the same passive aggressiveness he’d always had, because if Harry starts fighting with him before coffee he’s going to start crying, resolution or no. “I’d heard you were back!”

“Yeah.” Zayn rubs at his ear. “Forgot how quickly news travelled here.”

“Well, especially when my best friend is the bartender and de facto manager at the bar you inherited.” Harry points out. He’s moving as he talks, getting the muffin. “You made quite an impression on Niall. He wasn’t prepared for your eyelashes. Or you fighting with Louis.” Harry sets the muffin back on the counter, waves Zayn’s wallet away. “No, it’s on the house for an old friend. Can you wait a second? My break’s in five.”

Zayn glances out the windows, at where the dogs are sitting, obediently for now, but he doesn’t want to risk it. “I can’t, those are mine,” he says, regretfully, “They’re probably hungry.”

“Maybe later, then.” Harry doesn’t seem offended, at least. “We need to catch up. I can tell you about everything that didn’t happen here, and you can tell me about—” He cuts himself off, flushing, and Zayn knows that look. Zayn hates that look. The ‘oh did I remind you of something bad?’ look. The pity.

“About London,” Zayn fills in, nodding. “Yeah, of course. I actually live upstairs? So—”

“True! You’re my new tenant. I was wondering if I’d have to go up with some pastries.” At least the pitying look is gone. But Zayn would have thought he’d have noticed if Harry was the one co-signing his lease, even if he’d been moving through a fog when he signed it. “It’s incorporated for legal reasons, but this is my building,” Harry explains, at Zayn’s look. “I bought it when I started the bakery, and—look, come back down when you get a chance, I’ll be here all day.” He gestures behind Zayn, to where a line is forming.

“Yeah, of course.” Zayn takes the paper cup Harry hands him. “And, Harry? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see someone who isn’t mad at you,” Harry corrects, too knowing, but he’s grinning back.

\---

Zayn does come back down once he gets the dogs settled. It’s not like he has anything else to do, not with the pub not opening until noon. And Harry’s still Harry, so quick to put people at ease—he fills Zayn in on everything that’s happened, who’s married (with another one of those pitying looks) and who’s divorced and who has kids, who cut their hair and who got plastic surgery and who fucked off to the states. He tells Zayn about the bakery he’d bought and made into a thriving small business, driven, Zayn’s sure, by his own charm and marketing skills. Zayn’s forgotten how easy it was to be with Harry, when he wasn’t being an overdramatic needy little shit; Louis’d always been his best friend, him and Liam, but Harry was something different.

So Zayn tells him about London, about veterinary school and his old clinic, about the guy who kept coming in with more cats until they’d lost count of how many he’d had and about the bakery down the road from his old flat that wasn’t nearly as good as Harry’s, which makes Harry flush, pleased. He doesn’t say anything about anything else, and Harry seems to get it, doesn’t push, just lets him talk around her, even if it’s clear Harry’s wondering about her.

Still, eventually, Harry pushes back his chair. “I’ve got to go check on some things in back,” he says, collecting the tea he’d pushed on Zayn when they’d sat down. “What are you up to, now?”

Zayn shrugs. “Dunno. I guess figuring out the pub? Walter’d mentioned some improvements he wanted to make, at the end, and like, I need to learn how to run it.”

“Niall’s who to talk to about that,” Harry tells him. “He’s basically been running that place for a year.”

“Okay.” Zayn agrees. But it’s his place. Shouldn’t he know how to do it? He has to be able to do something right, at least. Even if he failed in London. Failed in his engagement. It can’t be that hard. He’s smart. He should be able to figure it out.

A few hours later, and he’s hunched over the desk in the back room of the pub that Walter had always used as an office, and he can’t figure it out. Zayn’s good with numbers. Or well, he’s okay with them. He was always less about the science shit then the patients. But he should be able to figure out whatever system—on paper still, of course—his grandfather used. He should. But…apparently he can’t do that either. He can just sit in this dark inner room, with the single desk in the middle and the walls lined with shelves of random shit that Walter acquired over the years and empty crates of beer that must have overflowed from storage, and try not to get a headache.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn turns to see Niall standing in the doorway. He doesn’t have that grin on he’d had when Zayn was just a random customer. And there’s definitely no flirtation. There’s just a wary sort of tension, like Zayn’s a stray dog who might bite at any moment. Which is fair. Zayn’s been feeling a bit like a stray dog recently.

“Going over the books.” Zayn gestures to the table. “What are you doing here?”

“Prepping.” Niall doesn’t move from the doorway, just crosses his arms over his chest. His face looks unnatural, set grimly like that. Zayn doesn’t even know him and he can tell that. “There’s plenty to get ready, before we open.”

“Oh.” Zayn knew that. He did. “Okay, good, thanks.” He turns back to the notebooks. He needs to figure this out. He’ll figure this out, then he’ll figure out how to make a living from the pub, then he’ll learn how not to be pathetic all the time. Easy as that.

“What are you even doing with those?” Niall demands, after a moment when he just watched Zayn.

Zayn straightens again, and he knows he’s glaring and he knows he shouldn’t provoke his grandfather’s right hand man but he just—“I told you,” he snaps, “Going over the books.”

“For twenty years ago?” Niall asks. His voice is polite, but it sounds like he’s laughing at Zayn, which just makes Zayn bristle. The mockery is as bad as the pity. “As opposed to the ones on the computer?” Zayn blinks. “We live in the twenty-first century here, same as London.”

Niall’s tone is sharp, but Zayn can’t—of course they are. Of course Zayn was that much of an idiot. Of course he’d already messed up.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and because Niall’s there, doesn’t hit his head onto the table like he wants to.

“Do you want me to show you how—”

“I’ll figure it out.” He’ll get this. He’ll make it work. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, fine.” Niall draws back, eyebrows raised. “I was just offering, mate.”

“And I said, it’s fine.” Zayn knows he’s being an asshole. He knows he’s making a horrible impression. He just can’t manage not to, anymore. Maybe he just is an asshole. Maybe that’s what she saw, why she did what she did.

“I can see that.” Zayn doesn’t look up, and he just hears the footsteps of Niall walking away.

Zayn works at the books, then goes home to walk the dogs again. It’s a breath of fresh air, being with Harley and Rhino, even having Tigger brush against his legs when he comes in. They love him. They don’t think he’s a failure, or that he’s lacking something. They don’t care that he’s so angry all the time. They just love him.

Then he takes a breath, grabs his leather jacket, and goes back to the pub. He needs to see this. Needs to see what he’s working with. How he’ll make his living for the next however long. He can survive this for an evening.

The pub’s crowded, for a Wednesday evening—more crowded than Zayn remembers. Niall’s behind the bar with one other bartender Zayn also doesn’t recognize, some twenty year old kid who’s flirting with some girls as he serves them beers. It’s might not be as crazy as some London bars are, but it’s got a nice hum to it, the same energy Zayn remembers from being a kid and sitting behind the bar watching his grandfather work, serving drinks and chatting with customers and friends and making the world happier. He’d loved that. Loved to see the magic his grandfather worked, so foreign to anything he could do. He’d imagined himself behind that bar one day, laughing and happy and master of his domain.

Well, here he is. Master of the domain.

He ducks his head as he comes in, then grabs a barstool in the far corner of the bar, where he can sit in the shadows. He knows what’s going to happen if people see him. From here, he can watch, can figure out what’s going on.

In some ways, it’s so the same as it was the last time he was here. The old men at the tables, chatting over their beers; the teenagers playing darts and yelling at each other, the families finishing up dinner. Zayn should meet the rest of the staff, probably. The bartenders, the cooks, the barbacks. He should call a meeting, make sure everyone knows who he is. He’ll do that once he figures things out.

He even recognizes some of the people here. Lily and her girls are in one corner, her hair as red as ever, her laugh as recognizable. Louis and Liam and someone who looks like Stan are at the table next to them, and Vanessa doesn’t even stop talking to Lily as she leans over to poke Liam at one point, making grabby motions for his chips until he hands her one. Louis’s got a girl with him too, a pretty brunette who’s holding his hand, who he smiles at like she’s the world, and who smiles back the same way.

Zayn scowls down at the table. Maybe he can leave. No one’s seen him yet.

A coaster hits the bar, then a pint glass filled with beer over it. Zayn looks up in surprise to see Niall standing there. He’s smiling more than he had this afternoon, like just being behind the bar is lighting him up. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

“What is it?” Zayn asks. He can be picky, about his beer. It had got him teased at university, she’d always said he was being a snob, but he was a pub owner’s grandson, it was in his blood.

“Good.” Niall tells him, then lets himself be pulled away to where he’s being hailed down the bar.

As long as it’s sitting there, Zayn takes a small sip. It’s just hoppy enough, rich but not too heavy for the season. It is good. It’s what Zayn needed. Not that he has any idea how Niall knows that.

“Zayn Malik?” Zayn winces, but he looks up—it’s Melissa, Melissa…some last name he’d forgotten. He’d always liked her well enough in school, though he was a few years older, but right now he wishes her anywhere but here. He’d been trying to avoid this. “Wow, it is you! Hey, Lily!” She calls, and Lily looks up. “Your boyfriend’s back!”

“What? Dean’s—oh, Zayn!” And now the whole pub is looking at him. Zayn tugs his jacket around his shoulders, as Lily gets up and comes over to give him a hug. Vanessa and Amelia follow, the three of them apparently as close as they ever were, though they’re missing two of the tight-knit group they’d once been, and he hugs all of them. Louis, he notices, doesn’t come over, and neither does Liam, though Liam at least gives an apologetic look. Instead Louis leans in to say something to his girlfriend, who nods and gives Zayn an evaluating up and down.

“We heard what happened, with your engagement,” is the third sentence out of Melissa’s mouth. “We were so sad. Walter and Jean said she was so nice!”

“Well she couldn’t have been that nice,” Amelia points out.

“I don’t know. Zayn was a shit boyfriend.” Lily says it with a smile, but it’s not helping anything. He was a shit boyfriend to her, he knows, but he’d been a teenager then. Stupid and an asshole. He’d thought he’d changed, but not enough. “Harry and I’ve exchanged notes, we agreed.”

“Harry was never your boyfriend, though, right?” Amelia points out, and before Zayn can answer Vanessa says,

“Close enough, though.”

“If we’ve quite finished dissecting my teenaged love life?” Zayn inserts pointedly. He’d take no discussion of any of his love life, but that’s not going to happen, he knows. This is going to follow him for years. He’s that guy. He’ll always be that guy, now. “How have you been?”

They chat for a few more minutes about their lives—Lily’s got a serious boyfriend, Amelia just got a promotion, Vanessa’s thinking about finding a new job as more than an administrator at the school—then they’re drawn away by Louis’s challenge of darts. If Zayn had even considered going, he certainly wouldn’t after he got an eyeful of Louis’s warning glare. Funny, how best friend telepathy still works even with hatred.

He finishes his beer instead, watches as Lily’ boyfriend appears, swings her around before kissing her dramatically, as the girls clap.

“You okay?” And Niall’s back again, with his blue eyes and blonde hair. Zayn wants his dogs.

“Fine.” He swallows the last of his beer. He shouldn’t have another one. The last thing he needs is to be drunk and sloppy and pathetic. “Is this a normal night?”

“For a Wednesday, yeah.” Niall sweeps his gaze over the crowd. “It’s summer, so people are more likely to come out. And it’s Ted Baker’s birthday—that’s the crowd over there.” He nods to the group in the back, with three tables pushed together. “But I’d say this is about average. Everyone’s drinking well. It’s mainly regulars today, so we aren’t getting a lot of takers on the specials, but that’s more a weekend thing anyway. I bet we’ll get a nice profit. The tip’s are doing well too.”

Zayn nods, trying to absorb that. He needs to think like that now. Evaluating how much people are drinking, and how to get them to drink more. How to make people want to come here. Not that that seems to be a problem. “Good.”

Niall’s still looking at him, like he’s supposed to say more than that. Zayn thinks back, tries to remember his grandfather, but all he remembers is the bar. He never learned the mechanics. Never thought he’d need it, once he moved to London and found that he really did love being a vet.

“Yeah,” Niall says at last, and moves away again. Zayn watches as Liam comes over for another round, how Niall laughs with him, those blue eyes changing from the watchfulness he uses with Zayn to something that shines.

Zayn can’t be here anymore. He’s had enough people for tonight, has had enough with Louis’s glares and everyone else’s nosy pity. He wants to be home. He wants it to be a year ago, when the ground was solid beneath his feet, when he had his London flat and his fiancée and their pets. But as he can’t do that, he slides off his stool, and slips out. He’s sure no one will notice he’s gone.

\---

“So are you dating again yet?”

“That a pass, Styles?” Zayn retorts, and Harry laughs. These morning chats with Harry have become the highlights of his days. Harry might always be aware of what had happened in London, the specter of it in every word, but at least he’s not angry at Zayn. It feels like he’s the only one of Zayn’s old friends who isn’t.

This morning, a Saturday, apparently means Harry has extra help so he can take a walk through the park, which is nice. He’d forgotten how nice the expanse of green was, the fresh air. And most people out are doing their own thing, not looking at him—there are families out walking on their own, some kids setting up a picnic, a bunch of people, including Louis, Zayn thinks, in what look like a football game.

“No, thank you. Not that I’m not sure you’ve improved since you were seventeen,” Harry assures him, which makes Zayn snort. “But you’re still too moody for me. I need someone lower maintenance.”

“I’m low maintenance!” Zayn protests. He’d always thought he was. He’s chill.

Harry stops to give him a look that for once is pitying for a different reason. “Are you?” he asks, then shakes his head, which makes his hair flop around his face, and starts walking again. “Remember when you spent an hour getting ready for that dance?”

“I was sixteen!”

“And how long do you take now?”

“I haven’t gone to a dance since I was sixteen.”

“Fine, for a date. How long does it take you to get ready?”

Zayn opens his mouth, then closes it, biting his lip. “I haven’t gone on a date for years either.”

“Oh, right.” Harry lapses into a serious face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I brought up old wounds. I know it’s still a sensitive subject—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” Zayn just wants him to stop talking about it. “But no, I haven’t been dating. To answer your question.”

“Do you want to?”

“Not if it means getting set up.”

“I just—”

“Watch out!” Come the call, and Zayn looks up in time to see a dog racing over the nearest hill, his leash trailing behind him, with Liam charging after it.

Harry takes a step away, but Zayn reaches into his pocket for the dog treat he knows is there. The dog—puppy, really—veers right away, charging toward him now. He stumbles to a halt in front of Zayn, panting hopefully.

“Good boy,” Zayn tells the puppy. “Sit.” The puppy just keeps grinning. Zayn waits, keeping an even gaze. “Sit,” he repeats, and the dog barks, wiggling in excitement. “Sit,” Zayn says a third time, and finally the puppy plops down. “There’s a good lad,” Zayn tells him, and slips him the treat as he grabs the leash, just as Liam comes running up after him.

“Did you get him to sit?” Liam asks, glancing incredulously at the dog. “I’ve been trying that for days!”

Zayn shrugs, and hands him the leash. “He okay to pet?”

“Yeah, he’s super friendly, that’s the problem.”

Zayn kneels down to greet the dog properly. The puppy bounces back up, leaps towards him to lick his face, and Zayn can’t help his laughter as he runs his hands over the dog’s sides. “Oh, you’re going to be a beauty, aren’t you?” he murmurs, scratching the dog’s ears. The puppy barks, sniffing at his skin in confusion. “Smelling the pups, yeah? Don’t worry, they aren’t here. You’re top dog around here.”

“His name’s Watson,” Liam explains. “I’m really sorry, he just got away.”

Watson barks again, shaking his tail. “Nice to meet you, Watson.” Zayn runs another hand over his head, then straightens. “It happens,” he tells Liam. “No harm.”

“Not now that you caught him.” Liam grins at Zayn, and something loosens in him. Liam had been his friend too, before he chose Louis. He’d been comfort and a refuge for Zayn, when Louis was too much. He’d even been the first person other than his family Zayn had come out to—the safe option, when Louis was unpredictable. He’d smiled at Zayn then too, assured him he’d always love him no matter what. Apparently that wasn’t true, but the smile’s still comforting. “Thanks!”

“No problem. He just wanted to run a little, didn’t you?” Watson barks in agreement, then wanders off to sniff at the grass.

“And you just had a treat in your pocket?” Harry asks. Zayn shrugs again.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Liam!” The yell comes from the lawn a few meters away from them, where the footballers have paused, probably to watch the runaway dog. Not only Louis’s there, but Niall too, leaning to one side like he’s stretching, his gaze steady on Zayn. Watchful. “Are you coming?”

Liam gives Zayn another one of his apologetic looks. “Sorry, I’ve got to—”

“Yeah.” Zayn knows. “Nice to see you.”

“Liam!” Louis demands again, and Zayn glares right back at him. He knows Louis doesn’t want anyone he knows associating with him. He doesn’t need to rub it in.

“He’s just—he’ll get over it,” Liam tells Zayn, and drops a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. “See you around!”

Zayn watches as Liam jogs over to the pitch, Watson gamboling after him. Louis turns away from Zayn the instant Liam’s not near him, but Niall’s still watching. Zayn shifts, and turns back to Harry, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” he snaps.

Harry presses his lips together. “You know, Louis’s got a lot of friends around here. Making up with him would be a good idea.”

“I’m not the one who’s being a bitch. Who’s been a bitch for years.” Just because Zayn dared to leave town for school.

“You could just apologize.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not apologizing.” Zayn turns away from the pitch, where he remembers too well Louis trying to teach him how to play, Liam and Louis playing one on one while Zayn daydreamed and occasionally kicked the ball if it was demanded of him. Louis can go screw himself.

\---

“You’re sure you don’t want help?”

Zayn looks up from the computer, where he’s been pushing the buttons that _make sense_ for the last twenty minutes and is now about ready to pull his hair out. He’s frustrated and hot because airflow isn’t the best back here and he’s a little worried the apartment’s going to get too hot for Harley, who can be sensitive to that. He doesn’t need this. He just needs to get this order in and then he can go home.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re—don’t push that!” Niall yelps. Zayn freezes, slowly moves the mouse away from the button he was going to try. “Here.”

Zayn doesn’t have time to move before Niall’s next to him, his hand on the mouse over Zayn’s. “I can—”

“Yeah, but it’s bugging me, okay? I can’t watch you take half an hour to do this when you could do it quickly.” It should sound snide, but it comes out on a wry laugh that makes it impossible for Zayn to take offense, somehow. It’s not wrong, he knows. He knows he’s slow at this, that he doesn’t get this like he should. It’s in his blood, shouldn’t that matter? “You just do—” He clicks three buttons, that Zayn probably never would have tried, then prompts Zayn to type in the number of napkins they need, then hits enter. “there.”

Zayn blinks. It took thirty seconds. “That makes no sense.”

Niall laughs, then makes a face like he’s surprised at himself. “It doesn’t. Had to do it like you did for a while before I figured it out.”

“And you finally got fed up of watching me poke at things?”

Niall pauses, like he’s considering what he’s saying. Zayn lets out a long breath. “I’m not going to fire you for saying I’m shit at this, Niall. I know I am.”

It gets another laugh out of Niall. “There’s a learning curve. Like, bet you didn’t pop out of your mum able to stop a runaway puppy. It‘s the same thing. Like at the park yesterday,” Niall clarifies. “Watson’s run away before, taken us an hour to get him back.”

“I just had a treat in my pocket.” Zayn shrugs, then nods at the computer. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Niall looks at the computer, then back at Zayn, clearly judging something. Zayn’s mood, maybe. Zayn doesn’t know what Niall’s thinking about, all the time he watches Zayn like he’s weighing him. It’s refreshing, after knowing what everyone’s pitying or angry looks mean. That there’s someone who doesn’t think they know everything about him already. “I could show you a bit, maybe. If you want.”

Zayn doesn’t want. Zayn wants to be good at this. Wants to be able to do this. Has to be able to do this.

But he’s also not an idiot, and he knows how shit he is at this. He can swallow his pride. That’ll be better than failure. “Yeah,” he sighs, and tries not to let it feel like defeat. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Legend!” Niall grins. “Now I won’t have to watch you do it slowly anymore.”

“Sorry I’m so painful to watch.”

“Never said that,” Niall replies cheerfully—a hint of the easy flirtation he’d had that first day, that Zayn’s seen him use with customers. “So, have you figured out the accounting software yet?”

“Sort of?” It’s an exaggeration. Zayn’s figured out a bit of the functionality, probably. Google’s helped with a bit more.

“Let me show you,” Niall hooks a chair with his foot, pulls it over, and settles down next to Zayn. “I’ve got some time before we open. Let’s go.”

\---

After a week or so, Zayn’s got his seat at the bar—the same corner seat he’d taken the first night. He doesn’t mind it, hiding in the corner like this, even if he knows that his habit of doing that had annoyed Rose. He likes being able to watch everything that’s happening—it’s like watching the yard back in London, when all the dogs played. If a lot less cute. But it feels like it did to polish the bar, to be back; like tradition. Like if he came back a century from now, the same thing would be happening.

“Here.” Niall hands him a beer. He’s never served Zayn the same one more than once, and it’s always exactly what Zayn wants. He has no idea how Niall does it, but he sips without hesitation. This one’s a little lighter, an amber ale with a fruity undertone. It’s good. “Want food?”

“Nah.” Zayn takes another sip. Niall’s working with Wendy today, who’s been around as long as Zayn can remember and had greeted Zayn with a big hug and a ‘I’m so sorry about everything, love’, that he knew was well-meant but felt smothering, and so he’s avoiding her a bit too, because she’d started to ask questions before he’d run away to his corner. Louis’s in again, sans girlfriend—Danielle, Zayn’s learned through Harry—just sitting with Liam, laughing loudly at something on Louis’s phone. If Zayn closes his eyes, it could be ten years ago, and Zayn would be welcome there. But he isn’t. He’s not welcome there, and Harry’s not here, and he’s definitely not welcome in London. He’s just got this seat at the bar. His bar. His place.

“You could go home.” Zayn drags his attention back to Niall. He’s polishing the bar with a rag, like Walter always did, but he’s looking at Zayn like he’s seeing more than Zayn’d like. “We’ve got it covered here. You could go home.”

“Walter was here almost every night, right?” Niall nods. Zayn sets his beer down. “Then so will I.” It gets him another one of those quiet, intent looks from Niall, the ones Zayn can’t read.

“Fair enough. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Zayn retorts, and Niall chuckles.

“Will do, mate.” He heads back to the other side of the bar, serves Clement, the owner of the local pizza place, a drink that looks like vodka. The pub’s emptier tonight. Not empty, but there’s a group of people probably on their way through at one corner, and the rest are a few groups of locals enjoying a pint or two. They’re doing fine, Zayn knows—now that Niall’s finally shown him how to work the accounting software, he can tell. He can live off of this, especially here. Can keep Rhino and Harley and Tigger in their kibble, could probably even afford a few more pets, if he gets a chance. This could be his future.

Zayn drinks more beer. This could be what he does every day. Pub at night, wrestling with numbers and vendors and employees during the day. Day in, day out. It’s better than London, he reminds himself. Better than seeing Rose at the clinic every day, seeing everyone’s pity whenever they were in the same room, or worse, the judgment and wonder about what he’d done that had driven her away. Seeing her finger with a ring that isn’t his on it. This is better.

“Niall!” Liam and Louis are at the bar now, Louis hanging over it to get Niall’s attention. “We need you to settle an argument.”

“Yeah?” Niall finishes a drink for a pretty girl who pouts a little when he stops paying attention to her, and grins at Louis.

“Who would win in a fight, a kangaroo or a camel?” Louis says it like it’s the most important thing in the world. “Liam here says a camel, but he’s wrong.”

“A camel has longer legs and it spits!” Liam explains, just as earnest as Louis. “A kangaroo couldn’t get in close enough to kick.”

“The kangaroo would jump circles around him!” Louis waves his hands in the air, clearly incensed. “A camel can’t maneuver.”

“A camel isn’t a tank,” Liam argues. “It can maneuver fine. And it’s fast, it could just run away.”

“I’m with Liam, sorry Lou.” Niall laughs at Louis’s affronted face. He’s got a lovely laugh, when it’s real, not the way he’s been hesitant with Zayn. Though it’s gotten a bit better. But it’s not that easy, carefree laugh he has with everyone else, the one that seems natural to him. It’s not quite like Rose’s, but there’s a similarity, Zayn thinks despite himself. She’d laughed easily and often too. Zayn hadn’t realized that meant him making her laugh didn’t mean anything. “Camel definitely wins. Those things are nasty.”

“So are kangaroos.” Zayn doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s definitely his voice talking. “They’re incredibly aggressive when provoked.”

Three heads pivot to him. Louis’s expression has shifted into a glare, Liam’s into worry, but Niall laughs. “Well, that’s from the expert! Guess you’re right, Louis.”

Louis narrows his eyes at Zayn, then turns away. “I don’t know, Liam. Maybe you’re right.”

The pub’s not empty, and Zayn knows he should let it go, but, “Seriously?” Zayn scoffs. “You can’t even agree with me on a stupid argument?”

Louis spins back, like Zayn knew he would. “Oh, I’m sorry if this isn’t intellectual enough for you. It’s good enough for us small town bumpkins, but not for you big city boys.”

“What does that even mean? I grew up here too.”

“That’s right, you did.” Louis’s eyes glint, and Zayn braces. He knows that look, even if he’d never been on the wrong side of it before. “Couldn’t hack it in the big city? Couldn’t quite meet its requirements?”

“Louis,” Liam murmurs, his hand on Louis’s shoulder, but Louis shakes him off.

“Couldn’t quite satisfy it, you could say?” he goes on, and Zayn’s hand clenches around his beer. “Not enough that she didn’t run away to Vegas and—”

“Remember when you had a life and didn’t spend it bitching about mine?” Zayn’s off his stool, and he knows he’s making a scene and he just doesn’t care. He’s so sick of this. Of everything. “At least I wasn’t stuck here where apparently the most interesting thing to do is talk about me.”

“Oh, I know you left. You’re good at that.” Louis shoots back. “You—”

“What did I even do to you?” Zayn cuts him off. “Are you seriously still mad I went to London? Is that it? Isn’t it about time you got over that?”

Louis’s face goes red, then white. “Isn’t it about time you got over the fact that your fiancée left you at the altar?”

“That’s—” Zayn lunges, and then Liam’s between them, a solid bulwark, and Niall’s slammed something onto the bartop hard enough Zayn’s has to wonder if it’ll dent.

“Stop,” Liam orders, Zayn’s not sure to who.

“No fighting in the pub,” Niall agrees. His voice is steely too, hard like Zayn hasn’t heard it before. Zayn hadn’t even realized he had a temper, more than his snippiness those first weeks. “Louis, you need to leave. Go cool off.”

“I need to leave!” Louis whirls to glare at Niall. “Me?”

“He owns the place!”

“And I was here! I didn’t come back just because I couldn’t—”

“I’ll go.” Zayn grabs his jacket from his chair, tugs it on. “If Louis’s incapable of not causing a scene.” He spins on his heel before Louis can retort, gets out of there and tries to ignore the eyes on his back, watching him. He’s fine. He doesn’t know what Louis’s problem is. He’s fine. He just needs to make this work, then he’ll be fine.

\---

Zayn skips the bakery with Harry the next morning, goes on an extra long walk with the dogs, almost fast enough to make it a run. He’s still angry from fighting with Louis last night. Not even watching Rhino’s excitement over a butterfly makes it any better. He needs—he needs to do something interesting. He needs to do something worth doing. He needs to not fail at something. He needs—

“Zayn!” Zayn turns at the sound of the voice, finds Niall sitting on a bench in the park. He’s in running clothes, and is just a little sweaty, which, on his bare arms, is a nice picture. Zayn’s never been particularly in shape, but he thinks that might have contributed to his fascination with guys who are. His crush on Liam at a formative age might also have helped. “Hey, didn’t know you ran this way.”

“I’m not running.” But Zayn slows anyway, tugs at Harley’s leash to head toward Niall’s bench. “Just walking these two.”

“Both yours?” Niall holds out his hand to the dogs politely, and doesn’t seem put out when Rhino greets him by jumping on him, which gives him points in Zayn’s book. He doesn’t trust people who don’t like animals.

“Yeah. This is Rhino, and this one’s Harley.” Zayn gestures to them in turn, as Niall scratches Harley’s head.

“You fit them both in that little flat?”

“It’s not about the size of the place, with the right breeds. I had two more, in London.”

“Four?” Niall laughs incredulously. “Really?”

“And two cats, and a lizard. And whatever animals we were fostering.” At Niall’s continuing incredulous stare, Zayn studies his hands. “I am—I was—a vet, and so was—so is—my, um. Ex. We liked—like—animals.”

“Obviously.” Niall breezes on past Zayn’s mention of Rose like it was nothing, which Zayn is infinitely grateful for. “So now you’ve just got these two?”

“And a cat, Tigger, back home. She’s too cool to walk with us, though.”

“As the lady of the house often is,” Niall agrees. Harley butts his head against Niall’s knee, and Niall pets him obediently. “You okay?”

“Hm?”

“After last night.”

“Fine.”

Niall squints up at him, shading his eyes from the sun. Zayn’s never really seen him in direct sunlight, but it works on him. “You say you’re fine a lot, you know.”

“Because I am.” It’s a lie, and Zayn thinks Niall knows it, but he doesn’t call him on it. Instead, he gets to his feet, one hand on the back of the bench. He’s favoring his right leg—not noticeably, but it’s not that different from noticing an animal’s limp. “Are you okay?”

“Great, mate. Why?”

“You’re limping.” Zayn nods at his leg. Niall looks down at it like he didn’t know it was there, then when he looks back at Zayn his lips are twisted in something like a smile.

“Yeah, ‘s my knee. I’ve had problems with it, and I think I overworked it. It’s why I was resting. Do you want company getting back? I was going to stop in at Harry’s anyway.”

“Sit back down,” Zayn orders. He’s not a doctor, but he does know joint injuries can turn bad fast. “If you overdid it, I can come back with a car, drive you home.”

“It’s not that bad.” But Niall settles back down, wincing a little as he straightens his leg. “I just didn’t stretch enough.”

“That was stupid,” Zayn murmurs, and kneels down. He’s already on his knees before he thinks to ask. “Want me to look at it? I’m not a doctor, but I know some stuff about join injuries. It’s the kind of thing that happens to horses a lot.”

“Now I’m a horse, great.” But Niall nods. “You won’t be able to make it worse.”

Zayn doubts that, personally, but he hands the dogs’ leashes to Niall, then looks more closely at the knee, feeling the muscles as Niall straightens it obediently, then relaxes it.

“Just ice it, I think,” Zayn concludes. “And don’t come in to work tonight. I can cover for you behind the bar. You should keep off it.”

“You’ll cover for me?” Niall repeats. There’s something off in his voice, and Zayn looks up at him, offended. Niall’s staring down at him, his cheeks a bit red.

“You don’t think I can?” He might not be a professional, but he thinks he can hold it together for one night, with someone else working the bar. At least on a weekday.

“No, I do, but it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine, always am.” He grins, but there’s still something not quite as open as usual in it, and his leg’s vibrating a little under Zayn’s hand, like he’s the one who’s ready to bolt.

“Now who’s fine?” Zayn stands back up, and takes the leashes back. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to Harry’s, then he can drive you home. Slowly.”

“Now I see Walter in you,” Niall mutters, as he stands back up. He makes a face as he puts weight on his leg. “He was a mother hen too.”

Zayn bites at his lip. He is, he knows. It had annoyed Rose to no end, how he hedged her in, apparently. How he never let her fly free. But he can’t change. “I like to take care of people,” he mutters. He’d never realized it was a fault until recently.

“Why didn’t you become a doctor, then?” Niall asks. Zayn’s sure to walk slowly, and Niall keeps pace with him. The dogs, a bit tired from their long walk, don’t object. “According to everyone, you were smart enough for it.”

“I don’t like most people.” It was never a question, really. Zayn’d always known what he wanted. Even if he knows some of his family questioned his decision. “I like animals. They don’t care who’s making their pain better, just that it’s gone.”

Niall hums, considering. Zayn likes that about him, he’s found. How he thinks about the things Zayn says. The things everyone says, but Zayn too. “Doesn’t seem to stop you from taking care of people too, though.”

“It doesn’t,” Zayn agrees, and keeps an eye on Niall’s knee all the way back to the bakery, as Niall chats about football and tries to explain why it’s a brilliant sport to Zayn. Niall might not be worried about the knee, but Zayn’s good at worrying for people.

\---

“No mum, I’m doing fine.” Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry as he walks into the bakery, pinning the phone to his ear. “I’m settled in here and everything.”

“You’ve hooked up with all your old friends?” she asks. Zayn knows she’s just worried for him, and he loves her for it, but he’s sick of these every other day calls, the gentle probing that he knows comes from love but that has gotten cloying.

“Yes, mum.” He points to a muffin, shrugs apologetically as Harry gives him a stern look, probably for being on his phone. He hadn’t meant to get caught on the phone with her, though. “I have hooked up with all my old friends.”

“Not nearly,” Harry mutters, and there’s a snort from the counter. Zayn gives Niall a grin too—he hadn’t even noticed him. He’s not usually in the bakery in mornings, though Zayn knows he and Harry spend a lot of time together.

“Who was that? Was that one of the dogs?” his mum asks.

“No, that was Harry. See?” He turns the phone around, to face Harry, and gestures.

“Hi Trisha!” Harry chirps. Even when she can’t see him, he’s grinning his special parents smile, shamelessly cheerful. “How have you been?”

“Tell him I’ve been well, and it’s lovely to hear from him again. How are his parents?”

“Do you want to just talk to him?” Zayn asks, and his mother hums, then,

“Yes, that would be lovely! Put him on.”

Of course. She’d always loved Harry. “She wants to talk to you.” Zayn hands over the phone, and Harry takes it with an enthusiastic hello.

Now that his barista’s occupied, Zayn leans against the counter, turns to Niall, who’s been watching the byplay with a hint of a smile on his face. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Niall toasts him with his cup. “Heard you didn’t burn down the pub last night.”

“No burning,” Zayn confirms. He knows he wasn’t as good as Niall, that he had messed some things up and didn’t have the ease with people—with these people in particular—that got people to buy drinks, but he’d done fine, he thought. Louis hadn’t come in, which probably helped. Liam had, though, and they’d actually had a bit of a conversation about Watson, which had been nicer than Zayn’d expected.

“Good tips, I bet.”

“Why?”

Niall gives him a ‘duh’ look. “Your face. A pretty face always pulls in more tips.”

“Then I can’t see why mine would pull in more than yours,” Zayn retorts, but he can feel his cheeks heating. It’s ridiculous, he’s a grown man, and he knows what he looks like. That was barely even flirting. It’s probably just that no one had flirted with him even a little since it had happened—too much pity. He isn’t accustomed to it anymore.

Niall chuckles, like Zayn had been joking. “Yeah, sure. Did you take final inventory, and—”

“I got the checklist, yes.” Zayn had, in fact, found the checklist Niall had emailed him about closing up. And he probably would have forgotten things on it if he hadn’t had the list, but he isn’t going to admit that. “And did you ice your knee?”

“Yes sir.” Niall does a little salute. “And this is me not going for my run this morning. Obeying my doctor’s orders.”

“You should see a real doctor.” Harry’s still chatting happily with Zayn’s mom, so it looks like Zayn isn’t getting his muffin anytime soon. He eyes Niall’s scone mournfully. If he had any non-pet food upstairs, he would leave his phone here and go get some, but he hadn’t gone shopping in too long.

“I have. Plenty. Trust me, this knee’s been poked and prodded by the best.” Niall gives his knee a look that’s more bitter than Zayn had come to expect from him, then shakes his head, smiles ruefully, and pushes his plate towards Zayn. “Want some?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Got to keep the boss happy.” Niall grins, the bitterness apparently gone just like that. “Have some. Who knows when Haz’ll stop charming your mum.”

“She loves him more than me,” Zayn agrees, and breaks off a piece of Niall’s scone. “Always did. Thought he was a better influence than Louis.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “I’ve heard Harry talk about you two. Did she know—”

“Not all of it, I think.” Zayn tells him, and reaches for another piece of scone. Niall nods, and he takes another one. It’s good. “But enough. Still better than Louis, in her mind. Got me into a lot less trouble.”

“She didn’t mind? That you two…” Niall trails off. Zayn shrugs.

“No.” He grins, remembering. “I think my dad was a little disappointed when Harry and I stopped. He liked Harry’s flattery.”

“And they didn’t want you to be with someone Muslim?”

People don’t usually ask things like that so bluntly. But it’s nice, that Niall’s not beating around the bush. Just asking the question.

“I think my dad might prefer it, but he’s not going to tell me what I can or can’t do.” Zayn looks down at the grain of the counter. “My ex was about as white as you could get, and they loved her.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” Zayn repeats, looking at Niall incredulously. He knows Niall knows what happened.

“Yeah, lucky. My ma’s still not comfortable with my liking boys too. She hasn’t, like, disowned me or anything, and I know she’ll always love me, but I know she’d prefer I marry a nice Catholic girl.” Zayn’s more surprised by the confession than the confirmation. Niall’s been guarded, before. Friendly, but not giving Zayn much. This is the first personal thing he’s learned. “So yeah, lucky.”

“That’s fair,” Zayn admits, and takes another piece of scone. He knows he’s lucky in his family, knows he’s lucky that his mum is calling him concerned for his well-being, that they love him this much. Lucky his grandfather loved him enough to leave him the pub, to give him a place to come home to.

“Count your blessings,” Niall tells him, smiling, and Zayn can’t help but smile back. “Because—”

“How come he gets to take your food?” Harry interrupts, setting the phone on the counter in front of Zayn, along with a muffin. “You stab me with a fork when I try. Your mom said she had to go, but she loves you and she’s glad you’re doing well and she’ll call back later,” he adds to Zayn.

“Because he asked,” Niall retorts, as Zayn takes his phone back. “You just steal it.”

“You’re just charmed by his pretty face,” Harry whines, pouting exaggeratedly. “Where is your loyalty? Swayed by cheekbones and eyelashes.”

“I am his boss,” Zayn points out sharply. “Maybe he’s more swayed by that than my pretty face.”

Harry and Niall both turn to stare at him. Harry’s got that affronted, slightly confused look he’s always gotten when people don’t play along with him; Niall’s got that quiet, observing look on that makes Zayn want to squirm, to ask what Niall sees when he looks at Zayn like that.

Except he really doesn’t want to know. “I’ve got to go feed the dogs,” he mutters, and shoves some cash at Harry. If it’s not enough, it’s not like he has anywhere to go. “See you later.”

“Zayn,” Harry sighs, but Zayn ignores it. He doesn’t want to fuck this up more than he has, doesn’t want to alienate the two people in this town who might be his friends just because he can’t seem to stop being on edge anymore. He doesn’t want to know how he’d have responded to Harry’s sigh, like Zayn was being unreasonable, because he knew he was being unreasonable. Harry’d always made jokes about how Zayn got whatever he wanted because he was hot—hypocritically, Zayn had always thought, but whatever. That wasn’t different.

He gets upstairs, greets Rhino and Harley as they demand, then pushes them gently out of the way to get to their food. Once they were set, he sits down on the couch, starts to pet Tigger when she jumps into his lap. “I’m okay, right Tig?” he asks, scratching her ears. “We’re fine.”

He chooses to take her purring as a yes.

\---

Zayn gets in early to the pub. Sitting at home brooding isn’t doing anything, and working is something he can do. He will make this work. So he goes to the office, and dives into the marketing plans his grandfather had left—or maybe Niall, Zayn thinks he can tell that from some of the language. They’re good plans, though what does he know—specials and social media blitzes and promotions and reconfiguring the website. He thinks they’ll work, but that means he has to find money for them, and that’s harder.

It makes his head hurt, staring at the accounts, trying to make a budget. When Niall explains everything it all makes sense, and he knows it’s logical, but now on his own, it just looks like rows of numbers. Rows and rows of numbers that have lost their meaning by now, and Zayn’s about ready to start screaming when he hears the faint strain of music coming from the main room.

It’s as good an excuse as any to take a break. Zayn shoves back from the desk and follows the music, which resolves into Justin Bieber of all things as he gets to the main room, pushing the door open quietly and looking in.

It’s just Niall there, the music loud enough that he must not have heard Zayn as he shimmies a little while he looks at the alcohol, writing shit down and dancing together, his hips circling like he can feel the music. Zayn can feel himself smiling, despite the music playing. It’s so easy, like Niall seems to be with people other than Zayn, him dancing around in his jeans and t-shirt. Easy like Zayn’s never known how to be for long. And he knows how to move, too, more than Zayn somehow expected—Zayn might sneak a look at his ass. Is that sexual harassment? He’s not sure. It doesn’t feel like he’s Niall boss for real. It’s just…Niall’s hot. Hotter as he dances, even though it’s clearly not him trying to be hot, just him feeling the music.

Niall’s singing along loudly too, thankfully almost drowning out Bieber. He makes a note on a pad, then turns to the side—and freezes as he sees Zayn.

“Oh.” Niall seems to choke. Zayn watches with interest. “Um. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“I was in the back.”

“Oh.” It’s the first time Zayn’s seen Niall speechless. His cheeks are flushed red, probably from embarrassment. “Sorry if I was too loud.”

“Nah, I needed a break.” Justin Bieber is the weirdest soundtrack to this ever, maybe. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing inventory. I usually do it in the mornings before anyone’s here. What are you doing here?”

“Looking at the marketing shit.” Zayn rubs his temples. “Thus why I needed the break.”

“Did you see what I said about the website?” Niall perks up at that, apparently forgetting that he was caught dancing to Justin Bieber. “We really need to get a proper graphic designer at it, Zayn. It’s a mess. I probably have a friend who could do it cheaply.”

“Yeah, I saw. I’m figuring it out.”

“If you need help—”

“It’s fine.” Zayn takes a deep breath. He’s not getting angry. Not at Niall. He knows he’s not as good at this as he should be, and Niall’s job depends on him not fucking this up, of course he’s concerned. “I’ll figure it out. I just needed a break.”

“Justin’s always here for that,” Niall grins.

“Or—” The song switches, and now Zayn grins. “See, this is real music.”

“Justin is real music!” Niall protests, “Don’t insult Justin, Zayn.”

Zayn ignores him, in favor of singing along. “In west Philadelphia born and raised…”

“Really?” Niall asks, but he’s laughing, and Zayn goes on. It’s been years since he learned this after watching too many episodes on Liam’s couch, but apparently he still knows it, because Niall watches in giggly awe as Zayn keeps going, on and on, until the end. “Wow.”

Zayn laughs. “You’re the one with it in their shuffle, mate.”

“No, that was impressive!” Niall claps, as the song switches to something soft rocky that Zayn doesn’t recognize but doesn’t sound horrible. “What other secret talents do you have?”

“That’s not a talent, really.” But Zayn’s still laughing, a little giddy, as he perches on one of the bar stools. He’s missed laughing like this. Being silly with someone. “Just something stupid I learned once.”

“Seems like a talent to me.” Niall leans on the bar across from him, his elbows on the wood. He’s got freckles, Zayn notes apropos of nothing. “Definitely impressive.”

Zayn can feel himself flushing, which is stupid and unnecessary. It’s not something worth blushing over, but there he is. “At least it’s not Justin Beiber.”

“If you insult Justin one more time, I might have to quit,” Niall warns. “No one insults Justin and gets away with it. Not even you.”

“Even me?” Zayn repeats.

“Like I said, your face excuses a lot,” Niall amends, with a grin. Then he adds, “And you’re my boss.”

That doesn’t make Zayn feel a little sketchier for looking at his ass. “As long as you don’t play it during work hours, I don’t care.” He pauses, then adds, “Or when I can hear.”

“Fair enough. We could play your music. If you want to come out here. You could take a table, if you don’t want to work alone.”

Zayn opens his mouth to say that he prefers to work alone, always has—then closes it. It would be nicer out here, when he can ask Niall any questions he has to, and he won’t be shut in at least. Working alone is different when it’s battling numbers than when it’s being with a patient. “Yeah,” he says, and can’t help smiling at Niall’s grin. “Yeah, that’d be good. Prepare to hear some real music.”

“Justin is real music!” Niall protests, laughing, and Zayn somehow can’t look away.

\---

They work for another hour or so, Kehlani on the stereo system. When Niall’s done with inventory, he comes to the table Zayn’s taken over, and pulls a marketing plan towards him, chewing on his pen as he marks it up with his notes. It’s nice. Quiet. Easy. It’s a lot easier to work on this when there’s someone nearby. Niall’s a good teacher, too—it never feels quite like giving in to ask him a question. It’s still a hassle, but at least he’s not alone in it.

“There,” Zayn says at last, pushing his chair back from the table in triumph. “I think I figured it out.”

Niall reaches over, pulls the computer screen so it faces him. “This looks good,” he agrees, grinning. “I think it’ll be good. Let me just…” he pushes a few buttons, changes some things Zayn didn’t even know he needed to think about. “There.”

“It better be good.” Zayn rolls his head around, stretching out his neck. “It has to be worth this headache. If I never see another spreadsheet again, it’ll be too soon.”

“You know this was only for the next few months? And you still have to think about—”

“No.” Zayn cuts Niall off, before he can ruin Zayn’s mood. “Let me savor this, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Niall watches Zayn for another second, then, “Didn’t you have your own clinic in London? Wasn’t there a budget with that?”

“It wasn’t mine, exactly.” Zayn rubs his temples once more, but he doesn’t really have a headache. He just feels like he should. “I mean, I had a stake in it, but I wasn’t the most senior person or anything. And there was an office manager.” He misses it, sometimes, with an ache not like how he misses anything else in London. The clean, cheerful office, with its dogs and cats and other pets, how the vet techs would smile and joke with him, how owners would beam at him when he sent them away assuring them their pet would be fine. Late nights on call even, dozing against Rose’s shoulder. It’s not like how he misses her, her smiles and the way she stirred his life up and around—it might even be deeper, he thinks. And there’s that anger again, that she ruined all that to.

He shakes his head. “So yeah, I didn’t have much to do with the budget. Just the patients. It’s what I’m good at.”

“You’re good at this too.” Niall’s eyes are kind, but Zayn still snorts.

“That’s nice, but I’m not.”

“You’re learning.” Niall waves away Zayn’s protest. “You’re learning faster than a lot of people would.”

“Sure.” Maybe he’s learning, but too slowly. “If you weren’t here I’d have ruined this place by the first day.”

Niall’s smile is almost shy, a little bashful. It’s cute. Niall has to know that, right? Know how good he is at this. How he’s kept Zayn afloat. “Just keeping my job.”

“You’ve gone above and beyond that.” Zayn leans in, so he can meet Niall’s eyes. They’re very blue, and there’s something earnest in how he looks back at Zayn, despite the smile in the corners of his lips. “You’re the only reason this place is still open. So like, thanks.”  

Niall’s cheeks are really flushed red now. It’s cute too. It’s cute in a very different way than Rose was, even though both of them had blonde hair and blue eyes and a constant smile.

Zayn shakes his head again. He needs to stop thinking about her. Needs to stop comparing every blonde he meets to her. Needs to stop thinking about Niall in the same breath of her, because it’s not fair to him to be compared and he’s Niall’s boss, anyway. Ethically, he can’t think like that. Not with another co-worker. He won’t lose this place too. And he doesn’t want Niall to lose it either.

Niall’s phone buzzes, and he looks down at it, his cheeks still red. “Are you going to be okay if Louis comes in tonight?” he asks. “Liam’s checking if you’re bartending again.”

“I’ll be fine if he doesn’t start shit.” Zayn closes the computer and stands up. The lunch staff will be in soon, they need to clean everything up. “I’m not the one being an asshole.”

Niall gets up too, shuffles the papers into a neat pile. “So he can come in, if he wants?”

“I never said he couldn’t.” And there goes Zayn’s mood again. He stomps towards the back room, scowling. “Everyone’s welcome to come. If they can deign to drink someplace I own.”

“Well, it is the only real place to drink in town. And the kids don’t give him a choice about the drinking.”

Zayn chuckles before he thinks about it, and when he looks back at Niall, he’s grinning. This is why Niall’s a good bartender.

“He can come, if he wants,” Zayn repeats, but the first wash of his anger’s gone. “I won’t start anything.”

“I’m not sure Louis can say the same thing.” Niall follows Zayn into the backroom, sets his papers down on the desk next to the computer Zayn sets down. “Maybe I’ll tell him not to come.”

“Don’t do that.” Zayn sighs. He just….wishes things were different. Wishes a lot of things were different. “It’s his place more than mine, anyway.”

Niall nods, but he seems to get there’s still something floating in Zayn’s mind, that keeps him quiet as Zayn plugs the laptop back in.

“You know we used to talk about starting a bar? Louis and me.” Niall hums, listening. Zayn doesn’t even know where this is coming from, but he’s saying it, apparently. “We spent a lot of time here, and it seemed like the coolest thing ever, to own a bar. Louis was going to be the bartender and I was going to cook. I forget what we were going to name it, some stupid pun, but that was our dream until we were like fifteen. I mean, Louis was also going to be a football star and I was going to be a rock star, but the bar too. In all our free time.” He glances around, at the back room. “I didn’t know it would be like this, though.” Louis unreasonably furious at him, so much failure behind him. Walter’s ghost here too much, the grief that still hits him sometimes unexpectedly.

“Swagger Inn.” Niall’s voice sounds loud in the echo chamber of Zayn’s head.

“What?”

“That’s what you were going to call it.” Niall smile seems more meaningful than Zayn can interpret, when Zayn looks up at him. “You’re not the only one who’s told me that story. I’ll tell Liam that Louis’s welcome here, but on probation.”

That dream was before Liam, before their duo became a trio. It couldn’t have been Liam who told Niall. But despite trying to absorb that, “You don’t have—”

“This is your place, Zayn.” Niall’s hand is on his shoulder suddenly, big and warm and grounding. Zayn takes a deep breath. “You can come first, here.”

“The customer is always right, yeah?” Zayn straightens, but he doesn’t shrug off Niall’s hand. He know he should, that Niall is just being friendly and he shouldn’t think too much about it, but it’s nice, to be touched. Everyone’s been too wary around him to touch him, even Harry.

“Not when it’s Louis,” Niall chuckles, and Zayn can’t help but laugh too.

\---

The days go by regularly at least, now. Zayn’s got a routine. And it’s fine. He has everything he needs—A job. His dogs and his cat. Harry as a friend. Even Niall, who’s becoming a friend too, or…something. Maybe he’s still grieving and angry, maybe he’s still fumbling at the bar and he knows Niall’s picking up far more of the slack than he should be, maybe Louis’s still an asshole and Liam still feels caught in the middle, but…but at least it’s not London. At least Zayn can sleep at night feeling like he’s accomplished something.

“And that’s good enough, right?” he asks Rhino. Rhino jumps onto the bed next to Zayn, which Zayn takes as a yes. It must be a lot easier to be a dog.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom is open a little in case Tigger or Harley want to come in, then strips off his shirt and pants to get into bed. It’d been a good night at the pub, both according to Niall and like he thinks he’s starting to be able to see himself. A good crowd, not just of regulars. A birthday party too, which meant a lot of drinks sold and good tips.

Zayn climbs into bed, pushing Rhino slightly so he can fit. The dogs hadn’t been allowed on the bed when he and Rose were together, mainly out of a space consideration, but Zayn doesn’t mind the warmth now. Tigger slips in after a minute, curls up on the pillow next to Zayn’s, and it’s easy enough to drift off like this, now.

The barking wakes him up—Rhino, leaping out of bed towards the main room. Harley’s a beat behind Rhino, not quite as loud but still insistent. Zayn jerks awake, rubbing at his eyes. If it’s nothing, he’s going to kill them both. He’s not responsible for his actions at—he checks—2:30 in the morning.

Then the knocking on the front door registers, and Zayn groans. Someone’s here. Someone’s at his door at 2:30 in the morning. He doesn’t know enough people for someone to be here this late. Nothing happens this late here. He thought this was one perk of being out of the city, at least.

But he still drags himself out of bed, grabs the closest pair of pants—some sweatpants—to pull on, and stumbles to the door. Grabing Rhino and Harley is instinctive enough he doesn’t have to think about it, yanking them behind him as he juggles the door open.

“What?” he snaps. It’s 2:30 AM, he’s allowed to be rude. Then he blinks, because he doesn’t know who he expected, but Niall’s definitely not it. And definitely not Niall with a drenched kitten in his arms, mewling defiantly. “What?” he repeats.

“Sorry to wake you up, I just—I didn’t know where else to go.” Niall’s wet too; it must have started raining out. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Zayn takes a step back. Rhino and Harley are still thunderous in their protests about their territory being invaded. They’ve come to a truce with Tigger, but it’s not always that peaceful. “What happened?”

“I just—I found it by the side of the road, and I don’t know…” Niall shakes his head, holding out the kitten like it’s an American football. “What do I do with it?”

Zayn shakes his head, pushing the sleepiness aside. This is easy. This he knows.

“Hold onto it for one second,” he tells Niall, and grabs the dogs by their collars to pull them back into the bedroom. He shoves the door closed, then heads to the closet. He knew he kept some basic supplies for a reason.

When he gets back out to the living room, Niall’s still hovering in the middle of the room, the kitten held awkwardly in his arms. It’s almost painful to watch, but there’s something gratifying about it. Zayn’s never seen Niall awkward before. It’s good to know he can be.

“Let’s just clear off the table and take a look,” Zayn tells Niall, and shoves all his shit off the kitchen table. Niall winces when Zayn throws it all onto the counter, but he doesn’t say anything, just sets the cat down on the table when Zayn gestures. The cat hisses, but Zayn’s not surprised.

“I found it by the side of the road,” Niall tells him again. As soon as he’s set the cat down, he’s drumming his fingers on his side. “It looks like it might be bleeding? And even if it’s not, it shouldn’t be that small, right?”

“You did the right thing. I’ll just take a look. Go wash your hands,” Zayn orders offhand, and slides on gloves.

He’s been working in a shelter since he was twenty—this is second nature, dodging the cat’s hisses and displeasure to examine it. It—he—is young, probably not more than six months, and definitely smaller than he should be. Probably once domesticated, given how he reacts to humans, but abandoned, if Zayn had to guess. Wet and miserable, and there are a few scrapes and healing abrasions that Zayn can see as he towels the kitten off, but nothing major. Just a miserable animal, wet and cold and alone.

“It’s okay,” he hums to the cat as he works. He’s vaguely aware of Niall hovering next to him, but that doesn’t matter. “You’re safe now, yeah?”

It takes him a few more minutes, but then Zayn steps back from the cat. “He’s fine,” he announces, and Niall lets out a little breath. “The blood’s mostly old. I think he’s just been on his own longer than he should have been, for a domestic cat at this age. I’ll clean him up and I’ve got some food we can give him. In the morning we can take him to get properly tested, but he should be fine for tonight.” Tigger and the dogs are used to strange animals, they’ll know what to do with him.

“Thank god.” Niall laughs, something more nervous than usual, and puts his hand over his heart. “I mean, I was sure I’d done something to fuck him up more. Like, broken his leg or something. Or that I’d hit him with my car or something without knowing.”

“Nah, he’s fine.” Zayn pets him cautiously, then finally has the presence of mind to look at Niall. He does look soaked and bedraggled and worried, but that’s not all Zayn’s looking for. “Did he bite or scratch you at all?”

Niall holds out his arms, covered in a flannel overshirt. “Long sleeves. I think I’m fine.”

“You sure? If he’s been on his own, there could be any number of diseases, you’ll need—”

“I’m fine. Got lucky, I guess.” Niall looks down at the cat, who’s apparently decided he’s safe and thus has gone to sleep. “You sure he’s okay? He looks so small.”

“He is small. Definitely underfed. But seems healthy, underneath that.” Zayn strips off his gloves, throws them into the trash, then heads to the sink to wash his hands. Niall watches, leaning against the wall like he’s trying to take up the least amount of space possible. “Like I said—” he cuts himself off with a yawn.

“Oh, shit. It’s late, yeah. Um. I can get out of your hair…” Niall glances around, like somehow a teleportation device will appear out of nowhere to get him there.

Zayn glances at the clock on the oven. It’s past three now. “If you want to crash, the couch is open,” he tells Niall, nodding in the direction of the living room. “I mean, I think you might have to share with Harley, but if you push him off he should be okay. If you don’t want to drive or anything.”

“Really? Thanks, that’d be great.” Niall’s yawning too now. “Thank god we don’t have jobs where we need to wake up in the morning, right?” He’s joking again, like he was never fazed.

“Yeah.” Zayn grins, and goes to get some blankets. He’d had nights of being on call for emergencies and then had to go in the next day, but he supposes he’d been younger then. And the prospect of being able to sleep in is nice.

Or it would have been, if Zayn hadn’t forgotten one key element—the dogs. They apparently don’t know that Zayn was up til fuck all o’clock last night, so he wakes at the usual time to Rhino whining and sticking his nose into Zayn’s face, which is his preferred method for waking Zayn up.

Zayn groans and gets up. A yard and a doggie door, that’s what he needs.

Niall’s still asleep on the couch when Zayn comes out, trying to shush the dogs as he pulls on his shoes. He’s curled up around a pillow, the blanket Zayn had given him around his waist like he’d had problems getting to sleep. Zayn has a guilty moment of glancing at the muscles of his back, then pulls his attention away. He shouldn’t.

And anyway, the dogs need a walk. The new cat gives Zayn a wary look from near the water bowl Zayn had put near some blankets before going to bed, but that’s better than lashing out, so that can be put off until after too. Tigger’s nowhere to be found, probably sulking somewhere, but she’s got food if she needs it. He scrawls a quick note to Niall that he’s walking the dogs, then heads outside.

The dogs are restless, probably from having the new cat in their space, so he lets them pull a bit as he walks. They don’t do their usual route; instead of going into the bakery, Zayn just waves to Harry as he goes by and heads to the grocery store.

Niall’s still asleep when Zayn gets back. He’s even still asleep as Zayn unpacks his groceries in the kitchen. There’d been some decent kitten food at the store, so he sets that out in a bowl and sets it near the kitten, then takes out everything else as the kitten sniffs at the new food. He’s a very trusting animal, Zayn notes idly, and unpacks everything else.

Niall finally wakes up as Zayn’s finishing up an omelet. Zayn notices because the Harley barks a warning when Niall wanders into the kitchen, his eyes sleepy and his hair messy. It’s weird, seeing him like this; makes Zayn wonder just how aware he usually is, if this is him unguarded. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Zayn nods, waving a spatula. “Morning. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Breakfast?” Niall blinks, but he’s clearly waking up a lot faster than Zayn does. “I know I should say shit about you shouldn’t have, but it smells amazing, so yeah, I’m down.”

“It’s not a problem anyway. It’s nice to cook for more than just me.”

“Do you like to cook?” Niall asks. “Where are plates? I can get that out.”

Zayn directs him to the right cabinets, then, “Yeah, cooking’s fun when I’ve got time. But it’s no fun to cook just for me.”

“Yeah.” Niall pulls down two plates, and gets out two forks and knives. “I mean, I’m not more than a basic cook myself, but I can grill anything you put in front of me. But when it’s just me…”

“Mm-hm.” Zayn eyes the omelet, then decides it’s ready and flips it. “The boys don’t appreciate my cooking enough.”

“The boys?”

“Rhino and Harley.” Zayn pushes Harley’s nose aside. “Tigger might, but she’s too much of a lady to ask.”

“Tigger’s the cat, right?”

“My cat, yeah. She’s around. She’s not great with new people or new cats.”

“And how’s the other one?” Zayn can’t turn to look, but Niall sounds a little anxious. “Still okay?”

“Still fine. I got him some food, and he was eating well. He’s really friendly, it’s amazing. ”

“That’s good. I’m sorry again about last night, the nearest vet’s just like an hour away and—”

“It’s fine. Glad to have helped.” Zayn closes the omelet, then sets it onto the plate next to him, and turns to the table. Niall’s even set it a little, the two plates and the utensils. It’s not been this set since Zayn moved in. The last time he ate with someone other than his family was, well. Before.

But now Niall’s smiling at him from the table, with Harley’s head on his thigh because he clearly figures Niall for a soft touch. “What are you going to name him?” he asks, instead of thinking about that. It’s a nice morning. He’s not going to ruin it.

“Name him?”

“The cat.” Niall still looks confused, so, “Are you not taking him, then?”

“Oh.” Niall’s eyes go a bit wide, but that could be out of anticipation for the omelet half Zayn gives him. “Um, I don’t think—I’m not great with animals, I don’t think I should be taking care of one.”

“You’re fine with animals. And he likes you.”

“Still, I don’t know. I don’t even know if my building allows pets.” The cat, like he knows he’s being talked about, jumps down from the counter and comes over to bat at Zayn’s legs. “You could take him.”

“If you don’t, I probably will.” Zayn knows how he works. “So you should take him, to save me from myself.”

“You just—will?” Niall laughs around a mouthful of eggs. “Just like that?”

“I’ve got a bit of a problem.” That much is easy to admit. “That’s why the dogs are being pretty okay, overall. They’re used to fostering animals.”

“So you’re what, a pet hoarder?” Niall stabs his fork at him. “I knew there was something fishy about you from the moment I met you.”

It’s easy to laugh at that. To laugh with Niall. “Yeah, like. Did anyone ever tell you about my pet things when I was a kid?” At the shake of Niall’s head he goes on. “So, like, I was always bringing home abandoned animals, right? Birds, lizards, fish. Some cats and dogs, if I could find them. And my parents were cool with a lot of it, but at a certain point my mom sits me down and tells me that I can’t bring any more animals home.” Zayn chuckles, thinking back on it. “Which makes sense to me now, but as a kid who just wanted more pets, it was the meanest thing she could do.”

“So you didn’t take it lying down?”

“Well, she said don’t bring them home, right? So I took them to the treehouse in the backyard.” Niall bursts out laughing again. “I snuck them food, or Liam and Louis did. I think it took my parents a good few weeks to catch on that I was running a zoo out of the backyard.”

Niall’s still laughing, and Zayn can feel himself grinning. The apartment’s nice, filled with laughter.

“Did you end up keeping them?” Niall asks, when he can breathe again.

“My mom made me give them away. Or most of them.” Zayn leans back in his chair, watching Niall laugh. He laughs with his whole body, it seems like, his whole self. “I got to keep a dog. He went with me to university and everything.”

“Legend!” Niall chuckles. He’s still laughing as he takes another bite. “I got a dog when my parents got divorced, but he was more my brother’s than mine.”

“What kind?”

“Retriever mix,” Niall answers promptly. “My dad got him from a shelter, so we were never sure.”

“What was his name?”

“Carrot.” Niall gives Zayn a wry grin. “Blame my brother, it’s what I do. He named him. I was at training.”

“Training?” Zayn asks, then regrets it immediately as Niall’s face pinches a little. “Never mind.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s a secret. I was in football training, before my knee gave out.” Niall taps it gingerly. “The plan was Premier league.”

“Shit.” Zayn’s eyebrows go up. “That’s—that sucks.”

Niall shrugs, with the sort of resignation Zayn’s seen in pet owners who know their dogs are getting old and there’s nothing they can do about it. Zayn’s never seen a look like that on Niall’s face. It looks out of place. He’s not meant for that sort of pain. “It’s over, and I’m happy now.”

The pinched look is still in his face, the laughter gone. Zayn wants it back. He wants Niall to keep smiling, to keep laughing. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” He reaches out, so he can put a hand over Niall’s where it rests on the table. Niall’s gaze jerks up to his, surprised. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”

Niall’s cheeks are a little red. “Don’t be stupid, you would’ve,” he demurs, but he’s got a pleased smile on anyway, the pain apparently forgotten.

“Not as well.” Zayn can’t imagine how he would have floundered, if Niall hadn’t been there behind him, teaching him, keeping everything running as he figured it out. “And like, you helped Walter out too, when he needed it. I’m thankful you were there for that, too.”

Now Niall’s cheeks are really red. “That was just helping out. It wasn’t anything. He was a grand man.”

“He was.” Niall’s hand is warm underneath Zayn’s, the fingers twitching a little like he’s not good at keeping it still, but he’s not moving it away. There’s the smile back in his eyes, and the sunlight’s pouring over him and it seems to be in his eyes too. “And, like. I’m glad to have met you.”

“Me too.” Niall grins now, and that definitely has sunshine in it. “But who knows, maybe I’d have gotten a house in London and brought a dog to you there.”

It’s like a cloud over the sun. Zayn’s hand jerks, and then Niall’s pulling his back too. “Then you’d still be there, and I’d be here.” Zayn stands up, to put his plate in the sink. He doesn’t want to look at Niall.

“Or I’d have followed you here.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Zayn had figured that out, in the last few months. Apparently she got everything in the break up, patients and friends and the practice. He hadn’t known all their friends were really her friends.

Metal clatters against china plates, and a chair scrapes as Niall stands up. “I would’ve,” he says, sure. Like it’s that simple. “Couldn’t resist those eyelashes, could I?”

Zayn snorts. “Sure.” He’s ruining this morning, he knows he is. He just can’t—the anger’s boiling over again, so he turns on the water and grabs a sponge to start scrubbing the pan.

He can feel Niall’s eyes on him for a long moment, then, “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

“You had expectations?” Of course he did. Zayn knows how this town works. He scrubs at the oils on the pan, scraping off bits of egg. He doesn’t want to hear how he disappointed these expectations too.

“Walter talked about you a lot. He was so proud of you, you know.” Niall’s voice is loud enough to be heard over the water, but it’s not harsh, or even gentle. It’s just even. A statement. “And Harry and Liam and Lily and the girls—even Louis. They all talked about you.”

“Yeah? And how’d I measure up?” Zayn finishes the pan, grabs the plates next to the sink, where Niall must have put them. “If you heard from Louis, I can’t imagine anything good was said.”

“You’d be surprised.” Niall hesitates, then, “You’re a lot angrier than I thought you’d be.”

Zayn’s hand stills despite himself, and he takes a breath. “That’s what happens when your fiancée gets married in Vegas three weeks before your wedding.”

It’s been months, and it still hurts to say. It’s not even the loss of Rose anymore that hurts. She’s gone. It’s that he can still hear her, back in their apartment after her vacation with her girl friends, fiddling with a ring on her finger that wasn’t his. _I love you, but it’s not sparks anymore, you know? It’s not exciting, or, like, fun. This was love at first sight. I couldn’t help it. He’s my soulmate_. All big dark blue eyes, her face earnest like she was begging Zayn to understand. To understand why she’d left his fiancée, and come back married to someone else, because he wasn’t enough for her.

Then, even worse—the humiliation. The pitying looks at work. The careful calls from his parents, his sisters, his cousins. Jawaad even coming up to London, clearly to make sure he was still functioning. The way her friends looked at him, like they were trying to see what was wrong with him, that she’d felt the need to run away to Vegas and marry the first guy she saw. Even here, the way everyone knows, how they look at him and see the man who failed his fiancée, his practice, who had to run away from London and take refuge here, where he’s not wanted either.

“Zayn.” Niall’s voice settles him, Niall’s voice and the hand on his shoulder and Tigger twining through his legs, like she’d sensed his mood and appeared again to soothe him, despite the new cat.

Zayn takes another breath, and starts wiping again. “Sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.” Still that same surety. But he’s wrong, Zayn knows it. If he’d been the fiancée Rose needed, she wouldn’t have run away like that. It’s what he’d loved about her, a free spirit among the stress and drain of school, of the first few years of working. She’d been impulsive and reckless, and that had worked, her wild energy and his stubborn ambition. Until it hadn’t.

“Well this is selfish, but I’m glad she was stupid enough to let you go.”

Zayn looks over his shoulder at Niall. He’s got a bit of a smile in his eyes, like always, but his face is concerned as he looks as Zayn, like he’s trying to see into him, to figure out what Zayn needs.

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t have known you like this if she hadn’t.” Niall squeezes at Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn can’t breathe.

“You hated me when I got here,” he points out. Niall shrugs.

“I didn’t hate you, I just wasn’t sure what you’d do with the pub. Thought you might sell it, or tear it down or something.”

“And you hated seeing me being incompetent.”

“It bugs me,” Niall admits easily. His hand’s still on Zayn’s shoulder. He’s close enough Zayn could start counting his freckles. “But—”

The kitten skids into the room, flails a little on the tiles, and nearly crashes into the wall before it darts off the other way. Rhino leaps up, barking wildly, and Niall jumps, his hand falling off Zayn’s shoulder.

“I guess he’s adjusting fine,” Zayn laughs, and sets down the sponge. He wonders what Niall was going to say. Wonders if it was something he was ready to hear. Anything he could hear, with Niall his employee, with Niall someone he relied on. The pub relied on. He couldn’t fail that too. “Are you going to take him, though?”

“I don’t know.” Niall’s watching the kitten now, his cheeks red. “Can he stay here while I figure out my building’s policy? I’ll chip in for room and board and all, I can even come play.”

Zayn leans down to pick up Tigger, so he can pet at her head and not look at Niall. “Yeah, like. That’d be good.”

\---

The pub’s crowded, when Zayn walks in on Thursday. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen it this crowded, not in the month or so he’s been here, not when he tagged around after Walter. He has to push his way to the bar, and his normal seat’s even taken by a group of middle aged women.

“What’s happening?” Zayn asks, when he can catch Niall’s attention. He almost has to yell to be heard, which he’s certainly never had to do before.

Niall grins at him and grabs a pint glass, ignoring the other people clamoring for his attention. It makes something warm start in Zayn’s stomach, that attention. “Open Mic night!”

“Open mic?” Zayn repeats. He remembers seeing something about that in the plans, he thinks, but he had glossed over it, maybe, one bullet point among many. He definitely hadn’t registered this. He hadn’t know the pub could fit this many people. It’s jarring somehow, this change in vibe. The excitement stirring in Walter’s sleepy pub.

“Yeah! We’ll be starting soon. The stage is set up and everything.” Niall waves a hand across the room, where indeed a makeshift stage has been cleared, with a microphone and amp. It doesn’t look professional or anything, but it looks functional. “Do you want to emcee?”

Zayn gives Niall his best ‘are you kidding’ look, and Niall chuckles as he sets Zayn’s beer in front of him. “Didn’t think so. Harry would be devastated if you took his job away, anyway.”

“Harry emcees?” Zayn echoes. “Doesn’t that take like, a year per act?”

Niall snorts. “He’s pretty good, actually. Mainly happened because I needed someone the first time, because I’m working, but he’s good.”

“Of course I’m good.” Harry almost trips as he gets to the bar; Zayn catches him with instincts apparently not lost after being away for years and sets him straight, which gets a dimpling smile in thanks. “What am I good at?”

“Hosting,” Niall explains. “Zayn was doubting your abilities.”

“Rude.” Harry elbows at Zayn’s side. “Are you going to play?” He goes on, looking at Niall.

“You play?” Zayn asks.

“And sing,” Harry adds.

“Oh, that I heard.” Niall makes a face at Zayn, who laughs back.

“I don’t know, I might be too busy back here.” Niall waves around the bar, where there certainly are plenty of people still asking for drinks.

“I could take your place.” Niall laughs at Zayn, which he thinks he’d be offended by, if it were anyone else. “I could!”

“Of course you could, love,” Niall assures him, patting his hand. “I’m sure.”

“I—”

“Neither of you are going to work, because you both should have fun.” Wendy, the other bartender on duty, interrupts. After years of Zayn being warned away from stealing drinks, it’s instinct to cower before her glare. “I called in Dave and Karen, they can cover for Niall and close up. You’re both taking off tonight.”

“You can’t just—”

“You think we don’t notice?” Her smile feels like Zayn’s a kid again, and she’s sneaking him treats from the kitchen when Walter isn’t looking. “You’ve been pouring everything into this place since you got here, Zayn. This one’s been doing that since Walter got sick.” She nods at Niall. “Take a night off. You’re young, enjoy it.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Niall jerks out of the way before she can cuff him on the back of the head. “Get out from behind the bar, and get your guitar. You,” She glares at Zayn, “go take that drink and sit with your friends. We can take care of things for the night.”

“I don’t—” Her glare is so much like Zayn’s mother’s that he ducks his head, feeling like a teenager again. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you?” She turns the glare on Niall.

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats, and holds up his hands after she slaps them away from the taps.

It’s odd, to end up on the same side of the bar as Niall, when there are people here. Zayn’s used to either them having that barrier, or them both working when no one’s here and it doesn’t feel like a bar, it feels like work. But this—Niall’s got a pint of his own, and he drags Zayn over to a table of people about their age, a few of which Zayn recognizes from school, most of whom he doesn’t, their names going in one ear and out the other when they say them over the sounds of Harry starting up the night.

“How’s the cat?” Niall asks, as the first act, a woman carrying an accordion, goes up to the stage.

“He’s good. The vet agreed he was fine, and all the blood tests came back negative.” It had been nice, taking the kitten to the vet. Talking to the vet, knowing he was asking the right questions. Zayn had missed that feeling.

Zayn watches the woman brush back her braid, then she starts, so he gets quieter. “He needs a name soon, though.”

“Zayn saved a kitten,” Niall explains to everyone else at the table, who all make the cooing sounds that mention of a kitten always evokes. “Now he’s boarding it for me until I figure out if I want it.”

“You’re not sure you want a kitten?” One of the girls—Zayn thinks her name was Sarah, but honestly he can’t be sure—asks incredulously. “Who even are you?”

“That’s what I said.” Zayn toasts her with his glass. “Do you want a kitten?”

“Don’t go giving him away?” Niall gives Zayn a big-eyed look like he personally betrayed him. “He’s our kitten!”

“So now he’s both of your kitten?” One of the guys—Edward, maybe?—asks. Niall makes a face at him, his cheeks a little red.

“Don’t mock our custody arrangement,” Zayn retorts, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders. They’re warm, and Zayn can feel the muscles under his Henley. Niall’s grins, and pulls Zayn closer by an arm on his waist.

“Yeah. We’re trying to make sure our child’s brought up well despite separated parents,” Niall agrees, and then, “Now shush, I want to hear Carey.”

Niall doesn’t move away as the woman with the accordion plays, or as the next act, a barbershop quarter, sings. Zayn knows he should move, if Niall’s not going to, but he—just doesn’t. The beer’s settling nicely in his stomach, and somehow another one appears when he finished his first, and he’s missed this. Missed sitting with people who are laughing and joking together, missed this sort of physical contact.

Two teenaged girls are dueting on a keyboard when Harry pops up next to them. His hair’s a little messy, and he’s grinning, clearly loving the attention everyone’s been giving him. “When are you going to play?” he demands of Niall.

“I don’t have my guitar,” Niall demurs. His fingers don’t move from Zayn’s waist.

“Yeah you do,” Harry argues, sounding very sure of himself. “You always have your guitar. It’s in back. When are you going to play?”

“Fine, sign me up,” Niall groans, but Zayn doesn’t think he looks very reluctant. “He’s an asshole,” he tells Zayn, and Zayn thinks he’s trying to look grumpy about it but he’s failing. It makes Zayn laugh, the way his smile and love is hiding behind his narrowed eyes. That must make Niall give up on his pout, because he grins back.

“Don’t you laugh,” Harry warns. He tucks himself in next to Niall on his other side, but he’s giving Zayn a pointed look. “I’ll get you to sing.”

“You sing?” Niall asks. Zayn glares at Harry.

“No.”

“He did, at least.” Harry ignores Zayn. “He was great, you should have heard him.”

“I don’t sing.” Zayn repeats, then turns to Niall. “But you should play.”

“Yeah!” Harry nods enthusiastically. “Come on, Niall.”

“Yeah,” Zayn echoes. This is a part of Niall he hasn’t seen before. There are so many parts of Niall he hasn’t seen before, he’s realizing more and more; multitudes behind his smile and seeking eyes. “Come on, Niall.”

Niall looks between him and Harry, like he’s trying to frown but it’s not working. “Fine. Sign me up, Harry.”

“Hah!” Harry lets out a quiet whoop, then disappears back towards his post near the stage. Niall bumps Zayn’s shoulder, enough that Zayn’s drink jostles a little.

“This is all your fault.”

“Harry’s the one who brought it up!”

“Yeah, but I can stand against his begging.” Niall shifts, so that he’s clearly just talking to Zayn, everyone else cut off. “Yours, though…”

Zayn’s a little tipsy, and he’s trying to be carefree for the first time in months. He lets himself smirk, the muscles a little rusty. “You like my begging, Niall?”

Niall’s cheeks flush, but he smiles back, something wicked in it. “I’m saying your eyes are dangerous, is all. Now.” He shifts back, not like he’s fleeing Zayn but like he’s reluctantly leaving his space. “I’ve got to go get my guitar, apparently. You okay here?”

Zayn glances at the other people at the table, who are chatting among themselves. He doesn’t know them, and the prospect of integrating himself with them doesn’t sound like something he wants to do. But he can find Harry, and he’s not going to stop Niall, so, “Yeah, I’m good. Go. Impress me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Niall grins, then heads back towards the bar, ducking behind it and into the back room after a few words with Wendy—justifying, Zayn thinks, why he’s back there.

Zayn’s ready to go to another table, but then one of Niall’s friends turns to him. “You lived in London, right?” she asks in a bit of an Irish accent, like it’s an accusation.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So tell this one—” she stabs a finger in the direction of a tall, dark haired man who’s laughing at her without trying to hide it. “That it sucks as a city and Dublin’s infinitely better.”

“I’ve never been to Dublin,” Zayn admits, then goes on quickly in the face of her glare, uncannily like Doniya’s when he’s annoyed her, “But yeah, London’s not my favorite place…”

“See?” She cries, slapping the man’s arm hard enough that the sound cracks. “Thank you. Zayn, right? I’m Laura, if you didn’t get that before. This is Chris, he’s an asshole, if Niall didn’t mention it.”

“Hi, Chris, an asshole,” Chris repeats, obediently but still laughing. “You own the place though, right? Walter’s grandson?”

“That’s me.” Zayn watches the pity flick through their face, as they remember what happened to him, but it leaves quickly, as Chris starts telling a story about how Walter once kicked him out of the bar for trying to dance on a table.

Zayn doesn’t leave, somehow. Niall’s friends are easy, fun and good at keeping things light, and he buys more drinks and more drinks are bought for him. A few more people go up for the open mic night—Liam brings down the house with a Justin Timberlake song, a barbershop quartet goes on that’s a little pitchy but definitely interesting, some other people with guitars and one with a cello, which is cool.

Then Niall goes on. The room cheers—there’s a wolf whistle Zayn thinks he recognizes as Louis’—as Niall settles onto the stool, his guitar on his lap. Everyone around Zayn’s stopped talking to watch, so he doesn’t have anything to distract him when Niall pulls the mic towards him.

“So, someone—” he shoots Harry an obviously dirty look—“Made me come up here and play tonight, so I’ll do a song or two for you. I’ve been told I have someone to impress, though, so I’m pulling out all the stops.” He adjusts the tuning on his guitar, strums a chord, then leans forward again. “So this is Brown Eyed Girl. Hope it’s impressive.”

Zayn laughs along with everyone else as Niall launches into it—but he stops laughing pretty quickly. Niall’s good. Niall’s really good, his voice and his playing both, and even more than that he looks likes he’s enjoying it so much, the way he smiles when he sings and grins at the crowd. People can’t help but be engaged, and Zayn’s just as helpless as the rest of them, more than he can blame on how he’s edging past tipsy right now.

Niall finishes to loud applause and a few more wolf whistles, and waves his thanks as he leaves the stage. He stops to talk to Harry, laughing at something he says. Even from here Zayn can see his smile, see how his throat moves as he laughs.

Zayn slips away from the table, to the bar. He has to yell a bit to be heard by Wendy, but she nods, and he’s leaning against the bar to wait, tracing the scratches on the wood, when, “Running away?”

Zayn turns with a smile. Niall must have misjudged the distance, because he’s close, almost in Zayn’s space in a way he seems careful not to be. His eyes are so blue, such a pretty blue. Better than any other blue eyes Zayn’s ever seen, like a lake Zayn could drown in because he never really learned to swim. “Getting you this,” he tells Niall, taking the pint glass Wendy’d given him and passing it to Niall. “You impressed me.”

“Yeah? Even with your sophisticated city tastes?”

“Why would my tastes be sophisticated?” Zayn asks, then shakes his head. “But you’re great, really. The plan was football, not music? Because you’re better than a lot of performers out there.”

Niall smiles, not his bright grin but something shyer. “Nah, it wasn’t for me. Couldn’t count on being discovered or anything. Football was more logical.” He shrugs, and takes a drink. He hasn’t moved away from Zayn yet. Zayn finds he doesn’t care. “Now, if I had a face like yours…”

“Your face is plenty cute,” Zayn retorts, and Niall laughs. It’s more disbelieving than Zayn would have thought, but it’s also plenty cute. “It is!”

“Uh-huh.” Niall clearly doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything more. “Are you having fun? We were under strict orders to have fun.”

“I’m having fun,” Zayn recites obediently. He is, he thinks. He’s a little tipsy and getting drunker, and it might be that but he feels like fewer people are looking at him weirdly. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Niall throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. It’s not quite a hug, but it feels similar. Niall’s warm, even for this crowd; it feels like it’s heating Zayn from the inside out even if it’s actually the other way around. “Now—”

“Niall!” He’s hailed by someone else, and turns to greet them, Zayn still pressed into him so he has to come too. He introduces them to Zayn, who nods and smiles and listens as they talk to Niall. It happens again and again, and it’s amazing, really. Zayn doesn’t think he knows this many people total, let alone is friends with them.

“Is there anyone in this town not in love with you?” he asks, when there’s a lull.

Niall just laughs again, like he doesn’t know what Zayn’s talking about. Walter was the same way, with everyone who came into the pub. “I like people,” Niall explains, as if it’s that simple. Or maybe it is. Zayn certainly doesn’t like most people, and maybe they’re just reciprocating. “Are—”

“Nialler!” Someone else interrupts, and like before Niall turns both him and Zayn. “You were fabulous, but you should have—oh.”

Louis cuts himself off. Zayn goes cold again, and shrugs out of Niall’s hold.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he mutters, and ducks away. He doesn’t want to deal with Louis today. He doesn’t want to fight, and one of them will start something if they’re in the same space, he knows they will.

“Don’t want—”

“Louis,” someone snaps, and to Zayn’s surprise it’s Niall, not Liam or him. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.” Niall’s hand is tight on Zayn’s forearm, a strong grip that Zayn probably could break if he wanted to but he finds he doesn’t. “Your shit doesn’t come here, okay?”

“I—” Louis cuts himself off. He’s looking at Niall like he’s never seen him before, then his gaze flicks to Zayn, and for once it doesn’t look furious, just confused. Lost. “He’s not going to stay, Niall, you know that? You shouldn’t get attached.”

“Oh, fuck you.” And there it is. Apparently it’s Zayn’s turn to turn this into something. “You need to get the fuck over yourself—”

“People getting attached just get disappointed,” Louis keeps going, and that confusion is focusing into an attack, like Zayn had known it would, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Look at his fiancée, she got so disappointed she left.”

Zayn’s fists clench. It had been a good day. It had been a good night. He’d almost forgot how angry he’d been.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he repeats, and this time he does tug away from Niall. He goes mainly blindly, away from Louis, but at least there’s space in the hall near the bathrooms, where he can lean against the wall and breathe to calm himself down. He just needs to ignore Louis, he knows that. Louis’s bitter or some such shit. He was having fun.

“Hey.”

Zayn looks up. He’d half been expecting Niall, though he assumes Niall has other people to talk to. But it’s not Niall at all; it’s Liam who’s standing there, looking sheepish in his jeans and flannel.

“Are you going to yell at me too?” Zayn demands, straightening. That’s all he needs.

“No. I wanted…” he rubs at the back of his neck. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Louis was out of line.”

“No kidding.” Zayn sighs. “I left to go to university. Why is he still hung up on it years later?”

“You left and you didn’t look back.” Liam leans against the wall next to Zayn. He has a drink in his hand, something amber that Zayn would guess was scotch. “I don’t think Louis knew how to deal with you leaving and making new friends, and then you didn’t even come back that first vacation…”

“My parents moved!”

“He was your best friend, Zayn.”

“You were both my best friends,” Zayn corrects. It comes out harsher than he had meant, or maybe just that harsh. “And you both ditched me.”

“You ditched us first.” Liam sighs. He doesn’t sound harsh. He sounds tired. “Look, I don’t…I get it. You made new friends, and we weren’t your whole life anymore, I get it. But Louis was already having a hard time, and you didn’t help.”

“I didn’t—” Zayn shakes his head again. He doesn’t want that to be what tonight’s about. Tonight was supposed to be fun. He wasn’t supposed to worry about shit tonight. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, but. You know Lou.” Liam shrugs, but he’s smiling fondly. “Not good at letting things go.”

“That’s not been my experience.”

“Zayn.”

“No.” Zayn pushes off the wall. “I know you mean well, Liam, and I don’t hold it against you, but Louis was being an asshole, and I didn’t deserve it. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

He walks back towards the main room of the pub. Maybe he should just leave. Go home to his dogs and cats, make sure the new one is doing well. He shouldn’t be left alone this long, really.

“Hey!” This time it is Niall who appears next to him, shoving a drink into his hand. “It’s payback,” he tells Zayn, when he goes to give it back. “You doing okay?”

“I’m thinking I should go.” Zayn pushes his hair out of his eyes. “I just—”

“Don’t go.” Niall’s arm is around him again. “We could dance, come on.”

“There’s no room for dancing.” Zayn eyes the crowded pub. It’s not as crowded as some of the bars he and Rose sometimes when to in London, but it’s crowded enough that there’s not a proper dance floor. And the music currently playing is some weird mix he’s never heard before and should probably change, and is definitely not conducive to dancing. “I’m in a mood, I won’t be good company.”

Niall lets his arm fall, and he’s giving Zayn that look again, like he sees right through him. “Do you mean you want to go home, or that you feel like you’re unwelcome here?” he asks. “Because if it’s the first I won’t say anything, but if it’s the second than that’s not true.”

Zayn lets out a long breath, but Niall’s looking at him with a serious expression that can’t quite hide the smile at the corner of his eyes, and Walter’s pub is loud and crowded and Zayn’s so tired of being home alone.

“Yeah, okay.” He says. “Let’s dance.”

They dance, which somehow means a sort of swing dancing as best they can with drinks in their hand, and Wendy sends more drinks over, and Harry joins them at one point and they all try to dance together, then end up just drinking and chatting. Niall’s friends come over, or maybe that’s just the whole bar, but Zayn’s met some of them at the pub, and others of them he knew from secondary, and he can talk to them.

And somehow Niall’s never more than an arm’s length away. Zayn’s not sure if it’s him doing it, or Niall, but by midnight Zayn can’t stop noticing it. The heat of Niall’s body, the curve of his smile. All the sort of things Zayn hasn’t paid attention to—hasn’t let himself pay attention to. The way Zayn can feel himself responding, smirking and flirting and hooking their feet together, letting their hands brush. All the casual touches that aren’t casual. How’s he supposed to not notice, with Niall being Niall, urging him to talk without forcing him to, joking whenever he gets too inside his head?

Maybe it’s because he’s paying such close attention to him, but he notices when something turns off about Niall, when he starts to twitch like a nervous animal might when too crowded. Zayn’s never seen it before, but he doesn’t like it.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he announces, when Harry pauses for breath. “Niall, want to come with me?”

Niall gives him a look that’s half confused and half knowing, as Harry tries and fails at what Zayn thinks is a wolf whistle. But, “Yeah,” Niall says, and follows Zayn out back.

It’s empty out here—even the people from the pub who come out to smoke go out the front. Sometimes employees come out here, but they’re all busy, like Zayn would be if he was allowed. So it’s just him and Niall, and he sees Niall let out a long breath when they hit fresh air.

“Better?” Zayn asks. He doesn’t reach for a cigarette; he’s been trying to be better about that, out here.

“What do you mean?” It’s hard to tell, in the dim light, but it looks like Niall’s back is up. He’s certainly looking at Zayn, that searching look Zayn thought was finished now they’re friends. Or maybe it’s not that, maybe it’s something else, something in the way his lips are curved and how his fingers are drumming over his thigh.

Zayn leans against a wall, his fingers drumming against his thighs. His head’s spinning; he must be drunker than he thought. “Just, you looked, I don’t know. Like you wanted out. I…” He shakes his head. He can’t quite explain it. “Just wanted to give you an out, if you wanted it.”

“So this isn’t a smoke break?”

Zayn shrugs. “It could be, if you want.” He shifts under Niall’s gaze, feeling awkward. Niall always seems to see too much, and now’s no exception, even if Zayn’s pretty sure Niall’s not terribly sober either. “Or we can go back in.” He doesn’t want to go back in. Not when Niall’s there, and Zayn can’t stop looking at his lips, his arms, how his fingers’ movement makes his muscles flex. He’s pretty sure he’s too drunk to be subtle about it, and he’s definitely too drunk to care. “Or…”

“What about option C?” It feels like Niall’s moving through some sort of fog, how he eases across the space between them. Purposeful, like he’s decided on this course of action and is seeing it through, right until he’s in front of Zayn.

“Option C?” Zayn asks, licking his lips. Niall watches the motion; Zayn does it again, to see his gaze focus and darken. It’s been so long and his head is spinning and this is a night to be reckless, to forget about everything else and the consequences.

“Not a smoke break,” Niall explains, and his hands are on the wall next to Zayn, and the next moment Zayn’s pressed against the wall and they’re kissing, like the wave that’s been teasing them all night, for weeks, crashed over them all at once. Niall tastes like beer and the chips he’d stolen off of Harry, and he kisses like an experiment, like he needs to try everything out to see what works best. It’s enough to make Zayn’s head spin even more, a hand behind Niall’s neck and one in his belt loops to pull him closer, always closer. He wants more, wants this never to end, and tries to tell Niall that through his kiss, through how he bites at Niall’s lip and moans when Niall’s hips jerk against his.

“Fuck, Zayn,” Niall mutters, and Zayn takes that as an invitation to explore his jaw, his neck, the freckles across his cheeks. “You’re so—fuck,” he swears again, as Zayn can’t help grinding his hips back into Niall. Maybe it’s just that it’s been a while, but he’s buzzing, getting hard.

“C’mere,” Zayn mumbles back, which doesn’t make any sense because Niall’s already here, but Niall seems to get the picture because he’s kissing Zayn again properly, and Zayn could lose himself forever in this, in the feel of Niall and the taste of his mouth and how he’s got Zayn pinned, his body solid against Zayn’s.

“You,” Niall tells him, as Zayn breaks away again to go back to Niall’s neck, tasting the sweat there, “are just so—fuck, how are you real?” His voice breaks a little as Zayn can’t help but nip at Niall’s skin, sucking into it to watch how the pale skin darkens.

Zayn pulls back, just a bit. “That okay?” He’d forgotten—he’d always liked love bites, but Rose had hated them, and he doesn’t want to overstep—

“Are you crazy? Of course it’s okay,” Niall groans, and then he’s kissing Zayn again, and all the blood in Zayn’s body is definitely in his dick because otherwise he knows he’d think better of getting off like this, in an alley, but right now he doesn’t care. And Niall doesn’t seem to either, his hand fumbling at Zayn’s jeans. “Can I—”

“Yeah, yes, please, yeah,” it comes out like a plea and an oath, when Niall gets Zayn’s jeans open. “I—”

“Well well.” It’s not Niall’s voice. The knowledge filters through Zayn slowly, but it seems to come faster to Niall, who straightens and pulls away from Zayn jerkily, yanking his hand back.

Over Niall’s shoulder, Zayn can see Harry in the doorway, watching them with a barely concealed smirk. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Harry tells them, waving a hand.

“Shut up, Harry.” Niall mutters. He doesn’t step away from Zayn, but he’s looking between Zayn and Harry like he doesn’t know what to do.

“What?” Harry grins. “I want to see if Zayn’s technique has changed. It’s for science.”

That doesn’t seem to help. Niall’s cheeks are bright red now. Zayn thinks he might be embarrassed, if he wasn’t drunk and if it wasn’t Harry, who had seen Zayn at probably his most embarrassing anyway. “You’d just like to know, wouldn’t you?” he asks Harry, which gets his attention off Niall but just makes Niall twitch.

“You offering?” Harry flutters his eyelashes.

“Shut up,” Niall repeats, and runs a hand through his hair. He still looks well kissed. It’s a good look on him, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy.

“Fine. I just wanted to tell you that the last performance is going, but if you don’t want to take credit…” Harry shrugs. “That’s your prerogative.” He lifts his hands up, palm out. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

The door slams shut behind him, louder than it should be.

“I…” Niall tugs at the hem of his shirt, as he turns to look at Zayn. “I’m sorry, for Harry…”

“Don’t have to apologize for him. I know what he’s like.” It’s awkward now, in the silence. Quiet and weird, unlike the heated ease of before.

“Yeah, you would, I guess.” Niall pauses, then, “So, tonight’s been fun?”

Niall’s still just looking at him, and it’s just fun to him, of course, and Zayn’s heart is still pounding and he wants to touch and—he can’t be here.

“I’m going to go,” he says, and straightens off the wall. Niall opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then there’s a noise from inside that makes him look, and Zayn leaves before he looks back.

\---

Zayn wakes up hangoverless, but that doesn’t make it feel any better.

He pushes Rhino’s nose out of his face, and rolls over in his bed. Fucking hell. He almost wishes he could ignore last night, pretend he’d been too drunk to remember, but he hadn’t been, and he doesn’t think Niall had been either. No, they’d been sober, and it had felt like a good idea at the time. And part of him still feels like it was a good idea, the part of him that can’t stop remembering how Niall had felt against him, the little noises he had made, the way he’d smiled at Zayn when Zayn had started to dance with him. Niall’s just so…he likes him so much. He’s such a good person, and he makes Zayn feel like a good person too, and everything was good before.

Harley barks again, and Zayn groans, and gets to his feet.

He avoids the bakery in the morning, even though he can see Harry inside. He doesn’t want to know what Harry has to say, or to put him in a position to choose between him and Niall. He’s learned how badly that goes.

So he walks the dogs, goes back upstairs, changes, and heads to the pub.

It’s clean and everything in it’s place, which he shouldn’t be surprised about. Wendy knows her job, and for all Zayn knows Niall was here last night at closing too, after Zayn had run away. There’s not much for Zayn to do here, this early; vendors won’t be coming by until a little later, and Zayn thinks he’s finally gotten a handle on the accounts.

Instead he gets a rag, and starts to polish the bar. It’s like hearing his grandfather talk to him as he does it, with Walter standing there encouraging him. It’s not how fast you get it done, it’s how well you do it, he’d told him once, when Zayn was trying to get out of sweeping floors to go play with Louis. He hadn’t believed Walter then. Now he’s not so sure. And he’s in no rush anyway, so he does it right, small circles so the wood shines.

“Oh.” Zayn looks up. Niall’s watching him from the doorway to the back. He’s not quite smiling, but he looks cheerful anyway, even with his hair under a beanie and clutching a to-go cup of coffee.

“Hey.”

“For a second I thought Walter was here.” Niall pushes at his hair, which ends up shoving his beanie back. “He’d do this almost every morning.”

“He did since I was a kid.” Zayn sets down the rag. It’s weird, being on this side of the bar between them. But Niall’s being awkward with him, and he knows he made the right decision. Niall hasn’t been awkward with him before. Wary, sure, but not awkward, not like this. “We should talk.”

“Yeah.” Niall makes a move to come to Zayn, but then he hesitates, still hovering by the door.

Zayn comes around to the other side of the bar instead. It’s too unequal to have it between them. But he doesn’t sit down, not as long as Niall is still standing up too.

“Look, I. It’s not—”

“Not you it’s me?” Niall fills in, with a wry smile. But it’s not a disappointed one, really, Zayn thinks.

Zayn has to smile too. “But actually. I just…you know, Rose and I worked together? Like, that’s not how we met, but we ended up at the same place.” Niall nods, but doesn’t speak. Lets Zayn talk it out. “Then, when she, like. Dumped me and all. It got so bad at work, I had to leave, and I lost that too.” He gestures around the bar, trying not to look at Niall. “I can’t lose this, Niall. I can’t mess it up. It’s not—you’re amazing. Too amazing. I need you too much here.” Finally, he looks at Niall. Niall’s certainly got some expression on his face, but Zayn can’t quite figure it out. Something like relief, maybe. Like a sentence has been commuted, which isn’t flattering but at least it means it’s easier.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Niall nods. “You’re probably right. It’d be…I get it.” Another one of those wry smiles. “What, did you think I was going to force you into something? Give you an ultimatum?”

No, Niall wouldn’t do that. Niall just helped, never demanded things of him he couldn’t give. Let him figure out who he was on his own. Still, Zayn might have wanted a little more pushback, so he didn’t feel quite so forgettable. But Niall was just having fun last night. Niall has fun. He doesn’t get as wrapped up in things as Zayn does. “Of course not. So we’re good?”

“Yeah.”

“Last night…we can pretend it didn’t happen?”

Niall grins. “Don’t know about that.” He tilts his head, so that the bruise on his neck comes into focus. Zayn swallows. It’s dark against his skin, and the sight of it makes Zayn shift. “Didn’t know you were a vampire, Malik.”

Zayn pushes away the heat that comes at the sight. He knows he can be possessive; Rose had always hated that. Said it made her feel pinned down, which was anathema to her. “Sorry.”

“Not complaining, am I?” Niall shrugs. “We were both there. Want to help with inventory?”

“Um.” It’s giving Zayn whiplash. “Yeah, of course.”

He can’t help himself, as he catches up to Niall. He knows he shouldn’t, that it contradicts what he just said, but he presses a finger to the bruise anyway. Niall’s breath comes out, harsh and sudden, and his eyes are wide as he looks at Zayn.

“Sorry,” Zayn mutters again, and moves his hand.

Niall makes a choked off sound, then blinks, and shakes his head. “It’s fine. Come on. You missed Harry’s strip tease last night, it was a sight to see.”

“In the pub?” Zayn groans, and Niall laughs, so everything must be all right.

\---

Harry comes in that night, apparently just to spend his time teasing Niall and Zayn about the mark on his neck, but he doesn’t push farther and no one else seems to make the connection. Or maybe they just don’t care enough to make a big deal, Zayn wonders. He knows the gossip must have spread already, and he could be imagining the knowing looks he’s been getting, or he could not be. Luckily at least Wendy’s off, so she can’t tease him.

The one person he knows made the connection is Louis, because Louis comes into the pub, looks at Niall, then shoots Zayn a scornful glare before he sits at a booth and gets friends to go get his drinks all night.

“He’s actually getting better,” Niall tells Zayn. They’re both behind the bar tonight, because Jerry called in sick last minute. Zayn’s taking all the easy drinks, and Niall anything more complicated. It lets Niall take most of the orders, which is clearly a better situation. Zayn’s not bad with people, but he doesn’t have the confessional attitude of a bartender like Niall does. He just doesn’t care enough in general.

Niall watches Danielle take the next round of drinks back to Louis’s table. “He’s been asking about you.”

“So he wants more dirt on me?” Zayn snorts, and brushes past Niall to hand Kathy, the older woman who works in the library, her gin and tonic. Niall moves the slightest bit, so they don’t touch.

“That’s what he says.” Niall gives the man who’s just made his way up to the bar a grin. “Geoff! Did you see the game last night?”

“What do you take me for?” the man answers. “The usual, please.”

“Of course.” Niall reaches for a glass without hesitation. Zayn hasn’t seen this man yet, doesn’t remember him. But Niall knows his order. “So what’d you make of it?” He and Geoff start chatting about whatever game was on last night, and Zayn moves away to clear the empties. His hand brushes against Niall’s hip, and Niall’s voice stops for a second, before he keeps going.

\---

Niall knocks on his door the next morning. Zayn’s already walked the dogs and is caffeinated, so he’s not as put out as he could be, just opens the door, yanks Niall in, and slams the door shut just as the kitten makes a break for it.

“He’s big on doors right now,” Zayn explains, at Niall’s shock. His hand’s still twisted in Niall’s shirt, and somehow he’s pulled so Niall’s close to him, almost as close as he was that night.

He drops his hand. Niall takes a step back. “Yeah? Trying to make a jailbreak?” he asks, and kneels down as the kitten, intrigued by this new foot, starts to bat at it.

“He doesn’t seem that interested in windows. I think the concept of doors just fascinates him.” Zayn takes a few safe steps away, watches as Niall pets the kitten. He’d thought that after so much exposure, watching hot guys with cute animals wouldn’t be devastating, but it’s always as bad as it ever was.

“But he’s doing good otherwise? Healthy and all?”

“Yeah. You should get him to the vet’s soon, he only had the basics done when we were there and there are more shots he should get.” Zayn ducks down to pet Harley.

“I would, if my boss would ever give me the time off to get down there.” Zayn glances up, but Niall’s smile is soft, teasing. “He’s a bit of a taskmaster.”

“You know you don’t—like, if you need a day off, you can ask for it. I don’t—I know I like, rely on you too much, but you can—”

“Zayn.” Niall nudges him with his foot, before he sinks down to the floor to play with the kitten more. “I know.”

“Good.” Niall’s found a bit of string, and is dangling it for the kitten to catch. “You figured out what you’re doing with him yet? You seem to be bonding.”

“We’ve definitely bonded. But my flat doesn’t allow for pets.” Niall gives the kitten regretful stroke over the head, then laughs as he catches at Niall’s hand, grabs on. “I—I guess I’ll find someone to take him off your hands, then?”

Zayn looks at the cat, then at Niall, then at Tigger, who’s seen someone else getting attention and is investigating by plopping herself down next to Niall and expecting to be pet.

“I’ll take him.”

“What?” Niall’s whole face lights up.

“I’ll take him. It was always going to happen anyway, right?” Zayn shrugs. It’s been nice to have more bodies here, and he thinks Tigger’s been lonely. “Save you the trouble of finding someone else.”

“Really?” Niall’s not smiling, just looking at Zayn wide-eyed, like he’s amazing. Zayn shifts and looks away. “You don’t—I mean, we can share custody or something, I can pay for his vet bills and everything. I don’t need you to do this.”

“I like him.” Zayn likes watching Niall and him play, he doesn’t say. “And like, I told you, it was inevitable. My sister says I’m going to be, like, a crazy cat man one day.” Niall snorts. “What?”

“With a face like yours?” Niall asks, then looks down at the cat, fast. “But are you sure?”

“Yes.” He watches Niall grin as he lifts his hand, the kitten still clinging to it. “Or we could, I don’t know, share custody? So you can come over and see him, and shit. And if you ever get a place that allows pets, you can have him back or something.”

Niall’s eyes actually light up, but it’s quickly brought down to manageable levels. “I don’t want to cut into your rights, or anything. Or, like I said, I’ll pay for more than half, and take him to the vet and everything, and—”

“Do you not want to?”

“I do.” Niall smiles down at the cat. “I didn’t think I was a cat person, but he just wheedled his way in, you know?”

“Animals do that.” When Niall looks back up, Zayn glances back down at Harley. “Want to name him? If we’re keeping him he’ll need a name.”

“You haven’t yet?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t name them if I’m only fostering,” he explains. “Otherwise I’ll never give any away.”

“And you don’t want to name him?” Niall looks like he’s trying not to get excited, careful like he was when he was talking to Zayn about marketing ideas. “You’re the one who’ll be living with him.”

Zayn studies Niall. He doesn’t know Niall that well, but he thinks he knows him well enough. “You have a list, don’t you?”

Niall grins, only a little bit sheepish. “I like lists,” he admits. “How about Pelé?” Zayn laughs. “He’s my idol, Zayn, c’mon.”

“He is a fast one.” Zayn agrees. Niall’s sitting on the floor with a kitten in his lap, and Zayn feels lighter than he has for years. “Yeah, sounds good. Pelé it is.”

“Legend.” Niall bops the kitten on the nose. “I dub you Pelé.”

“Not Sir Pelé?” Zayn jokes, and Niall laughs louder than it deserves.

“Nah. He’s only a little bit, yet.” Reluctantly, Niall sets Pelé down, and gets to his feet. “Well, I should go, give you your time off…”

Zayn glances behind him, to the flat. It’s not like there’s anything there. “Want to stay? I can make lunch.”

“I…” Niall glances behind him, then at Zayn, then past Zayn, to where the bedroom door is still open. Zayn’s bed is unmade in there, he knows, because no matter what his mother did she could never manage to get him to remember to make the bed in the morning, and Rose had never cared so he’d never gotten into the habit.

Niall licks his lips, then his gaze flashes up and down Zayn. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He chuckles, and tugs on the edge of his shirt. “Um, maybe you should put a shirt on, though?”

“What?” Zayn glances down at himself, and remembers for the first time that he’d spilled some coffee on it on his walk and taken it off. “Right. Yeah.”

“Not that I object to the view!” Niall calls after him, as Zayn goes to the bedroom. Zayn laughs while he digs for a shirt. It’s fine. They’re fine. Zayn’s fine.

\---

Zayn really is fine, he learns. The days go by. He goes to the pub, comes home. Hangs out with Harry. Niall comes over sometimes to play with Pelé, and they don’t talk about how no one makes Zayn feel centered like Niall does, and how Niall sometimes looks at him with heat in his gaze before he turns away to start chatting or flirting with someone else. Zayn and Liam sometimes chat when Louis’s not around. Louis still glares. The pub is fine, too. It’s not easy, doesn’t get easier, and Niall’s still helping more than Zayn probably pays him for, but it’s going. Walter wouldn’t be ashamed of how it’s working. Zayn doesn’t think about Rose, or about London, and he’s fine.

“Hey, Zayn!” Zayn pauses in the street. He’s on the way to the pub, to do the accounts before the new stock comes in, but he knows that a lot of being a good pub owner is making nice with people, like Walter and Niall do. So he pauses, waits as the couple hurry up to meet him. Laura, he thinks, and her friend or possibly boyfriend, whose name he definitely doesn’t remember.

“Hi.” He pulls the beanie down farther over his hair. He hadn’t meant to see anyone yet. “How are you?”

“We’re good,” Laura answers. “Or, well, we could be better. See, we have a dog—”

The guy—fuck, Zayn needs to remember his name—slides an arm around her waist. “We think our dog is sick,” he sums up, as Laura makes a noise that seems to be protest. “Or I do, and Laura thinks she just ate something weird. We didn’t want to go all the way to the vet’s if it’s nothing, but Niall had said about his cat, and you’re a vet, right?”

“I was,” Zayn agrees. But he is still licensed, he supposes, so, “Yeah, I am. Want me to take a look?”

Laura lets out a relieved sigh. “That would be great, if you have the time. To stop us arguing, at least.”

“Yeah, of course. Um. Bring her the pub sometime today?” it won’t be ideal, but Zayn’s not sure when he’ll be home, and if she is sick having her around all his dogs wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Brilliant. We’ll let you get to work now, thank you!” the boyfriend says, and they part way with waves. The pub feels dark when Zayn gets inside, even though he knows it’s not; it’s probably just the impending headache of accounts.

They do bring the dog by in a few hours, just as Niall’s getting in. Luckily, as it turns out, because, the first thing Niall says to Zayn as he reaches the door, where Zayn’s greeting the retriever mix, is, “Zayn, you can’t bring her inside.”

“What?” Zayn runs his hands over her head, through her fur. She seems happy, though wary about the other smells on his clothes. “Why not? Maria’s trained, right?” he asks the guy, who nods.

“Health codes.” Niall says it like it’s obvious, which in retrospect maybe it is. “Can you do what you need to do out here?”

“Just tell Chris it’s nothing,” Laura orders. Chris, right. Zayn totally knew that. “He’s a worrywart.”

“That might be true, but it doesn’t mean she’s not sick.” Chris glances down at Zayn, his brow furrowed in worry. “She’s been tossing her head a lot, and I think her ear’s been smelling more, and she just hasn’t seemed happy. Maybe Laura’s right, maybe it’s nothing, but…”

Zayn tunes him out. He keeps petting Maria’s head, murmuring soothingly to her, then reaches for her right ear. When there’s no reaction, he strokes down the left—and that gets a loud whine. “Sorry, girl,” Zayn tells her, catching her head when she tries to turn it. “Got to get you better, yeah?” He flips up her ear, and as he expected it’s reddened inside.

He lets her ear fall down again, and stays down petting her until she calms.

“So?” Laura demands.

“I think she’s got an ear infection.” Zayn pets Maria’s head again, then stands up. “It doesn’t look too bad, but she should get medicine. I can—” He cuts himself off. He can’t give them any. He can’t do anything like that. “You should take him to a proper vet,” he starts over. “It’s a pretty common treatment, just some antibiotics.”

Chris and Laura exchange a look, somewhere between ‘I told you so’ on Chris’s part and one of those silent discussions about timing couples have. “I can take off,” Chris says at last, scratching over Maria’s flank. Her tail wags as she grins.

Laura sighs. “Well, thanks Zayn. Glad we didn’t ignore it.”

“Don’t worry about it, glad to help.” Zayn pats Maria on the head. “Feel better, okay?” She barks, which he’ll take as a yes. “Good.”

Zayn watches them go, then turns to find Niall hovering in the doorway, watching. “What?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Really?” Zayn should take him at his word and go to work but, he, well. He really doesn’t want to. Spreadsheets are stretching out in front of him, spreadsheets and the call to the craft beer place he needs to make a deal with and he doesn’t want any of that.

Niall’s fingers drum over his thigh. His jeans are tight today, Zayn can’t help but notice; it looks good. “It’s just nice to see you happy.”

“I’m happy a lot,” Zayn protests. He is happy. Most of the time. He’s not as angry anymore, he thinks. It’s soothed. Ever since Paula O’Brian and Jamal Baker got married, people seem to have forgotten he was scandalous, so he’s not getting as much pity, even.

“Are you?” It’s a simple question, but like always Niall asks it like he wants to really know the answer.

“Yeah.” He is. He’s fine. “I mean, I’m happy with you, yeah?”

Niall’s cheeks flush. “You can’t say that.”

“What? I am.” Niall makes him happier, it’s just true. He makes things easier, makes it easier for Zayn to just be himself.

“And I’m happy about that, I am, but…” Niall’s fingers are moving faster, still twitchy. “But if you say things like that it makes it really hard for me not to kiss you.”

“Oh.” It stops Zayn in his tracks. Not that he didn’t know that, didn’t know that was there, but now he’s thinking about it, thinking about kissing Niall, about whether he’d taste different in the sunshine and what those fidgety hands would feel like on his skin. Whether he could make Niall as happy as Niall makes him, except he couldn’t, not for long. Not for forever. He can’t risk the failure. “I, like. Sorry.”

“’s fine. Just, try to stop being you sometimes, you know?” At Zayn’s looks, Niall laughs. “Because you’re hard to resist.” He heads back inside, like that didn’t mean anything. Like the whole conversation didn’t mean anything. “Coming? I can do calls if you want to do stock.”

Zayn takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air, and trying not to blush. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

\---

Zayn’s found that his favorite job in the pub is bussing tables. He’s filled in most places where he’s needed, but this is the place he likes the most—or maybe the kitchen, but he’s not qualified to be back there and he’s a little afraid of Mary, the cook. When he’s bussing tables he can keep moving, never has to stay to talk to people, but he can see everyone enjoying themselves too, which is fun. Even on a Tuesday night, when there are only a few people around, and mostly they’re keeping to themselves, he can chat with Niall and Wendy at the bar, maybe exchange a few words with the locals who come in—Chris stops by to report Maria did have an ear infection but she’s on the mend—but mainly he can just stay quiet and no one will bother him. Even Louis, sitting at a booth with Liam and Vanessa, just ignores him when he comes by to grab their empties.

“You should really get a new TV, I can’t see anything for shit on this one,” Niall informs him, when Zayn drops off a tray of glasses. “It’s—oh fuck off, that was in!” he yells at the screen, where a football game is on.

Zayn laughs. “We’ll see if we can fit your sports obsessions into the budget.”

“It’s not just mine, it’s—did you see that?” he demands, and Zayn laughs again. Niall’s a very vocal sports watcher, he’s found, even if it’s just golf, which he’s weirdly obsessed with. He does it when he plays, too; Zayn’s seen him when he was walking the dogs in the park and Niall was playing with his mates. It makes Zayn wince and worry sometimes, watching him run without nearly enough care for his knee, but he always looks like he’s having so much fun Zayn’s not going to comment. He’d rather just watch Niall shout. “Louis, are you watching this, it’s such bullshit!”

“I’ll leave you to that, then,” Zayn tells Niall, and grabs a rag to start wiping off counters. “I—”

“Woah, is that Zayn Malik?”

Zayn freezes, then curses under his breath. He knows that voice, and he really really wishes he didn’t.

At least it isn’t Rose, he guesses. He lifts up his head. “Hi, Eliza.”

“It is you! Fancy running into you here. I was just stopping by for some dinner on my way back to town, and you show up.” The short woman with dark skin and a ponytail of dreadlocks grins. She’s in a smart skirt suit in a deep red that makes her skin gleam, and for a second, Zayn has a moment of déjà vu, where he could be in a restaurant in London, waiting to meet Rose and Eliza and the rest of their friends for a drink after work.

Except he’s not, and he’s reminded of that when she looks around the pub, her gaze skeptical. “Is this where you’ve been hiding out, then?”

He ignores the last part. “How are you?” He glances at the bar, where Niall’s suddenly stopped yelling at the TV. “And how’s Max?”

“Oh, you must not have heard. Max and I broke up months ago. Around the time you and Rose ended.” She shrugs, and takes a seat at a table. “It is what it is. He’s moved off to New York now, so good riddance to him. I went out with Blaise for a while, do you remember him? Oh no, you wouldn’t, he’s a friend of Steve’s.” Her hand fluttered at the mention of Rose’s husband’s name. “But I never expected to run into you! And at a place like this. I thought you might have gone back north, or gone off to the Continent.” She glances around, and Zayn’s reminded of why she was always more Rose’s friend than his. She’s always been a bit of a hurricane, one of the sort of people who would just keep talking until someone stopped her. She and Rose had had a lot in common, like that. They were both whirlwinds of people, who picked Zayn up and kept him going until they blew away too far and fast—until Zayn tried to hold Rose down.

And Eliza’s still going. “Was it really that bad, that you had to leave the clinic for this…quaint little place?” She looks at the rag in his hand. “And to bus tables? Zayn, you’ve got a proper degree.”

“It’s better than London,” Zayn tells her. He’s not going to get angry. He’s going to be better than that, to channel the calm he’s found lately. “Work’s been going well?”

“It is what it is.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m selling my soul, and all that. I’ve accepted it.” She narrows her eyes at him, all concern. “We were all worried about you, after you ran off. I’d heard you were working in a pub, and I didn’t believe it, but—Rose is sorry, you know. She says so, often. She wishes she’d been kinder.” Eliza’s never known how to lower her voice, so now the whole pub is hearing it. Well, maybe not the group of women in the corner, who are all leaning together like they’re plotting something, but everyone else. Niall’s pretending not to watch, but everyone else Zayn can see are looking, at the least sidelong. But Zayn’s not going to make a scene, not again. He won’t be a laughingstock here as well. If he doesn’t make a scene people will forget about his and he can pretend it never happened. “But was it really worth coming here? Were you so surprised this was the only option? Surely you saw how you weren’t right for her?”

Zayn swallows. He’s not going to make a big deal out of this. He’s over it. “I—”

“Clearly he didn’t.” It’s possibly the last voice Zayn expected to hear, but in other ways it’s so much déjà vu, Louis appearing behind him in an argument to say what Zayn wouldn’t or couldn’t, that he thinks he’s hallucinating.

But no, Louis’s there, somehow across the room before Zayn could notice, and Zayn hasn’t seen his gaze that fierce and not pointed at Zayn in years.

“Excuse me?” Eliza somehow manages to combine scorn and incredulity into one fell swoop, but Louis hasn’t been intimidated in his life, and he stands his ground.

“Clearly he didn’t see that your friend wasn’t good enough for him, or he wouldn’t have proposed,” Louis spits. Zayn’s too taken aback to do anything. He’d have thought Louis would agree with Eliza, or at least been reveling in his humiliation. “And if you were as concerned for him as you say you are, maybe you’d have come down here sooner, to actually check on him, or you wouldn’t have driven him away from a whole city by taking your bitch of a friend’s side.” Eliza’s eyes narrow at the insult, but Louis’s not done. “And just because you’re a snob doesn’t mean Zayn can’t be happy in this quaint little town, and the pub he owns.”

“Well.” Eliza gets to her feet again. “And who are you?”

“Someone who actually cares about Zayn, as you clearly don’t,” Louis bites out, and Zayn’s eyebrows go up. Something clangs from behind the bar, like Niall dropped something. “So you can tell Rose and everyone else that Zayn is doing great. Right?”

He kicks Zayn’s shin, and Zayn blinks. Right, he’s here. He’s not blindsided by first Eliza and now Louis. “Yes.” He is. “I am, and tell Rose it’s probably for the best.” He manages his best smile, mostly condescending. “And give my best to her husband, if he’s still managed to keep her interest.”

He can hear Louis’s snort next to him, but Eliza scoffs, drawing back. “I can see where I’m not welcome,” she snaps, and gathers her briefcase up. “So lovely to see you again, Zayn. I hope you do very well here.”

“Same to you,” Zayn smiles as sharply as he can, and she huffs again and leaves the pub.

The door closes behind her with a loud bang. For a second, there’s silence—then the noise suddenly doubles, and no one’s looking at Zayn anymore.

Zayn’s not thinking about that. He’s still confused. “What was that?” he demands from Louis.

Louis’s face is shuttered again, but defensiveness flickers on the edge of his mouth. “Really great friends you had, Zayn. They seem top notch.” Then he’s striding away too, back to the table where Liam and Vanessa still sit, seemingly as astonished as Zayn.

Zayn goes slowly back to Niall, who is cleaning a spot off the bar very intently. “That just happened, right?”

Niall’s lips twist, but he stops polishing. “Yeah. You okay?”

Zayn stops, considers. It’s like pushing at a fading bruise to see if it still hurts. It does, he finds, it still hurts—because Eliza had cared about him once, or he had cared about her at least, and because he hadn’t seen things were going wrong between him and Rose, that she was feeling so pinned down by him. Because he does miss London and the work he did there, and the flat he and Rose shared, and dogs who Rose got custody of. He misses all of that, and it hurts, and Eliza being back here brought all that back.

But it doesn’t hurt as much. And really he’s more confused about Louis.

“I think I’m okay,” he says, and Niall grins, like nothing could make him happier.

“Good.” Niall pauses, then adds, “You know, being here—it can make you happy.”

“I know.” Zayn does. He knows that. He thinks. “I do, Niall.”

“It’s just because…” Niall fusses with a glass, but everyone at the bar’s giving them space. Zayn lets him find the words. “When I came here, I wasn’t happy. I didn’t know what I going to do, without football. But I found my place. And so can you.”

Zayn reaches out, puts his hand over where Niall’s fidgeting. Niall goes still immediately. “I’m figuring that out.”

Niall’s mouth is gaping open, just a little, and his gaze goes down to Zayn’s hand, then back up to his face. Zayn could kiss him now, he thinks. He could, but—but there’s still the pub, and just because he’s finding that he likes it here, that London’s behind him, doesn’t mean he won’t drive Niall away, or that he’ll be driven away from this place he loves. Niall’s too like Rose in all the ways Zayn loved, laughing and carefree and lighting up Zayn’s life, and Zayn apparently ties those people down, and then it all goes to hell.

“Zayn.” It’s not an invitation, it’s a warning. Maybe he couldn’t kiss Niall, anyway. He doesn’t look ready to be kissed. He looks scared.

Zayn moves his hand, draws back. “I’ll go get empties,” he tells Niall, and leaves before Niall can say anything else.

\---

An hour or so later, Zayn slides a full pint of beer across the table towards Louis. Louis somehow doesn’t look surprised, just takes it, turning it around between his fingers.

“Thanks.” It’s all Zayn says, but he takes the seat across from Louis. Liam and Vanessa have both left, but Zayn was waiting for this. He can’t just let what Louis did go unacknowledged, even if, knowing Louis, he’d probably prefer that.

Louis keeps looking at the beer, but he takes a sip. It’s an IPA, like he’d always used to like; he seems to still like it, given how he takes another sip. “I’m still pissed at you,” he says, conversational. “Still really pissed.”

“I’ve noticed.” Zayn waits. Louis’s not good at this shit, never has been. To be fair, Zayn’s not any better.

“So pissed. I’ve spent years being furious at you for leaving.”

Zayn shakes his head. He’s thought a lot about this, in the past weeks. “You’ve spent years being pissed at me for going somewhere you couldn’t.”

Louis looks up at that, his eyes hard—then he starts to laugh. Not even hysterically, just incredulously. “Fuck you.”

“Am I wrong?”

Louis’s still laughing. Zayn can see Niall side-eying them from behind the bar, but he doesn’t come over, at least. And it’s better than them fighting. “Yes. Sort of.” Louis takes another sip of the beer, manages not to choke on it. “I’ve spent years being mad at you for being able to go somewhere I couldn’t. I always knew you were going, but I don’t know. I didn’t realize what that meant. That it would mean losing you.” Louis pushes his hair out of his face, frowning down at the beer now. “And I am pissed at you for that.”

“Yeah.”

“But I wasn’t going to let her say that shit to you.” Louis looks up, and Zayn is suddenly, forcibly reminded of just why he loved Louis so much—why his anger had cut so deep, and why not having him was so hard. There’s belief there, a fierce, protective love that’s deeper than the anger. “It’s bullshit.”

Zayn blinks at him. He knows Louis, and he knows what’s not said there. What it meant that Louis threw himself into the line of fire for Zayn without question, even though he doesn’t know the whole story. What it means when Louis says he’s angry.

“We’re going to need more alcohol,” he says, and Louis grins like they’re seventeen again.

“Too right.”

\---

Zayn drags himself out of bed the next morning only because Rhino’s nose is in his face. Otherwise, he thinks he would sleep forever. His head hurts far more than it did the last time Zayn’d gotten drunk, and he’s pretty sure he can blame Louis for that, the way he always used to.

But he’s not a teenager anymore, and no matter how hungover he is the dogs still need walking. He shoves on the nearest sweatpants and beanie, and takes the dogs off, scowling at the sun. It’s way too bright out. Why did he ever think getting drunk on a weekday was a good idea?

The park’s nearly empty, as it almost always is on weekday mornings after nine. Zayn considers sending a text to Louis, making fun of him for being at work, but he’s not sure they’re there yet, and anyway he’s not sure the number he has for Louis is still right.

He waves to the grey-haired old lady who always drinks her coffee on the same park bench, smiles when she waves back. Rhino, as always, gets overly excited at the squirrels in the tree, while Harley looks on in condescending exasperation. It’s all as it usually is—until he rounds the corner, and finds Niall sitting on a bench near the pond, dressed in running clothes.

“Did you hurt your knee again?” Zayn demands.

Niall jumps, almost spits out the water he was drinking. “Fuck, Zayn! Give a man a little warning next time.”

“Did you?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “No, mum. I’m fine. Just taking a breather so I won’t hurt it.” He looks out at the pond, where ducks are circling. It’s almost ridiculously cliché. “I like it here, you know? The ducks are sweet.”

“Not all ducks,” Zayn mutters. Niall laughs.

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Just a bad experience in school.” Zayn curls his fingers instinctively, so he remembers they’re still there. “Don’t be taken in by them. They can be nasty.”

“Noted.” Niall nods, then tilts his head. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Not like that, you could never look properly awful.” Zayn bites at his lip to keep his smile in, as Niall turns a little red. “I mean, how was your night? You and Louis looked like you were having fun.”

“It was good.” Zayn leans again the side of the bench. He needs to keep walking, but he doesn’t really want to move. “Sorry I sort of just, stopped working.”

“It’s your pub. And it was a slow night.” Niall shrugs. “We managed. You two better?”

“Getting there, I think.”

“Told you.” Niall barely even looks smug. “You didn’t manage to burn all your bridges.” Then he sighs, and stands up, stretching. “Okay, I’m finishing my run. I’ll see you later? I’ve got to come by to make sure Pelé remembers me.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and Niall bends down to say hello to both Rhino and Harley before he jogs off. Zayn can’t help but watch. He looks good running, his ass and legs and shoulders beneath a thin tank top.

Zayn’s thoughtful as he heads back into town. He drops the dogs off, and then goes back downstairs to the bakery.

“Hey, was wondering if you’d stop by.” Harry pushes a coffee across the counter before Zayn even opens his mouth, then gets a muffin and puts it on a plate. “Heard you had a big night last night.”

Of course he’s heard. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know?”

“Probably not. And if there is, they’ll know by noon.” Harry leans into the back. “I’m taking my break!” he calls, and when there’s a noise of acknowledgment he comes around still holding the muffin, towards a table near the window. Zayn follows obediently, and takes the seat across from Harry. “And, I mean. You know how big news your…well, your break up was.”

“I don’t know why.” Zayn takes a sulky bite of his muffin. “I’m not interesting.”

“You got left at the altar. It’s dramatic.” Zayn doesn’t wince anymore. Hearing it like that is easier than Harry trying to dance around it like he used to, anyway.” And it’s you.”

“What does that mean?”

Harry breaks off a piece of the muffin, throws it in his mouth. He’s still chewing as he answers. “You know, you were the golden boy. Fancy university, big city job.” Harry laughs. “Walter bragged about you all the time. I think Niall had a crush on you before he even saw you, with how much Walter talked you up.”

Zayn decides to ignore that last bit. Niall clearly hadn’t liked him when he first saw him, he doesn’t know what Harry’s talking about. And even if Niall had thought Zayn was whatever Walter had made him out to be, he’d been pretty clearly disproved. “I wasn’t anything special, though. Like, I was smart, but you could have left too. Plenty of people did.”

“But I didn’t want to.” Harry shrugs, and steals Zayn’s coffee, then makes a face. “How can you drink this? It’s so sweet.”

“I like sweet.”

“I remember.” Harry says it like it’s an innuendo, but Zayn’s not entirely sure what it means. He still scoffs at Harry. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Niall just how you like it.”

“They’ll never find the body if you do,” Zayn replies, trying for nonchalant, and Harry brays out a laugh.

“I’m glad you’ve come back,” Harry tells him, kicking at his foot. “Even if you’re busy being a tease to my best friend.”

“It’s not being a tease.”

“I know.” Harry smirks, slow and suggestive. “I remember what you were like when you were trying to tease. You can be much more effective than this.”

“Too right I can.” But the words turn over in Zayn’s head. He doesn’t have that many exes, really; he went from whatever he and Harry were to one night hook ups to Rose, more or less. Harry’s the only one he can talk to who might know the answers. “Harry.”

“Yeah?” Harry takes more of the muffin. Zayn thinks about protesting, but he didn’t actually pay for it so he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

“Do I, like. In a relationship. Do I cage people in? Like, pin them down, not let them be, like, as free as they can be? Like, free spirits, I mean?”

Harry’s eyebrows are up, but he takes a second to think about the question. Harry’s always been a good listener.

“Well, first of all, we weren’t in a relationship, Zayn. We just fooled around. I never thought it would go anywhere, and I don’t think you did either.” Zayn nods. He hadn’t. They’d both known what it was. “And, I mean. We were kids. That was years ago. I can’t speak for you now.”

“So that’s a yes.” Well, there’s the answer to that. It’s good to have it confirmed.

“No, not really.” Harry glances out the window, to the street outside. He’s still handsome, not as cute as he was at sixteen but something that’s matured into an easy sort of charm and thoughtfulness. “I can see why your…why someone might think so, I guess. You can be reckless, but you aren’t wild, Zayn. You are grounded—or no, maybe, traditional? You like having a home, something steady to rely on. Or you did, I’m assuming you still do.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It’s not.” Harry smiles at him, comforting. It feels oddly like one of his mum’s smiles. “But when I was sixteen, I didn’t want that, and you—well sometimes, yeah, it felt like you were confining. A little boring, maybe. Especially because you would go on adventures with Louis and not with me. But that’s me,” Harry goes on, before Zayn can say anything. “And that’s why we were never going to work out.” Harry fixes Zayn with a meaningful look that Zayn can’t quite interpret. “That’s not true of everyone. Some people like having that. And they’re the ones who are right for you.”

He’s still looking intently at Zayn, those big green eyes burning like he can see through Zayn, and Zayn just has to laugh. “Thanks, Yoda.”

Harry breaks into a laugh too, the intensity hidden again. “Excuse you, Zayn, I am clearly Obi Wan,” he argues, and Zayn lets the conversation go that direction.

\---

Zayn stays home from the pub a few nights later. Niall and Wendy are working, and both of them are infinitely more capable than he is. Anyway, he needs a night at home, where he doesn’t have to talk to people all the time. He doesn’t know how Walter did it, how Niall does—maybe there’s just a gene Zayn doesn’t have.

But it’s nice, to have a night where he can make himself some curry, take the dogs out for a rambling evening walk. He feeds the cats when he gets back, then settles onto the couch, the newest Daredevil series up on Netflix. Harley settles over his feet, Tigger on his lap, with Rhino on one knee and even Pelé comes over to investigate what’s happening for a little before running off to play with the cork he’s decided is his mortal enemy.

He could do this, Zayn thinks. In this flat, or at least in this town. He thinks he could maintain this. At least, the domestic parts of it. He’s still only treading water at the pub, but when he’s home, it’s good.

He’s about to press play when there’s a knock on the door. Rhino and Harley leap to their feet, barking thunderously as they dart to the door; Tigger raises her head. Pelé darts into the kitchen, because he’s gone from being interested in doors to being scared of them.

Maybe it’s just a door to door salesman or something, Zayn tries to tell himself, as he gets up too. Then he could just shut the door in their face and go back to his movie.

It’s not. Instead, he opens the door, and almost lets the dogs go in his surprise as Louis pushes through the door. “You weren’t at the pub tonight,” Louis announces.

Still in the doorway, Liam rolls his eyes and sighs. “By which he means, we noticed you weren’t at the pub tonight and came to visit, can we come in?”

It’s mostly shock that makes Zayn step back. Once this would have been normal, Louis and Liam showing up of a night. They spent most of secondary school glued together, the three of them. But he’s barely even seen Louis since Monday night, only nodded to him in passing, and Liam’s only chatted with him a little in the park when they ran into each other on a walk.

But he does step back, and Liam grins at him as he closes the door behind him. “Thanks. Hey, boys,” he tells the dogs, kneeling down to greet them.

Louis, meanwhile, has thrown himself onto Zayn’s couch. “We brought alcohol, so we might even be able to stay civil. Oh, Daredevil! Have you really not seen the new series?”

Honestly, Zayn can deal without acknowledging the elephant in the room, like Louis seems to want to. “Of course I have, who do you take me for?” he asks, and joins Louis on the couch.

Zayn had thought he wanted to be alone, but maybe this is what he really wanted—to sit here in his apartment with friends, with people who once knew him better than anyone. Louis seems determined not to address how he’s been fighting with Zayn, so they watch TV and talk about Louis and Liam’s jobs and Louis’s son and Liam’s new girlfriend, who Louis thinks is much too old for Liam but Liam is cautiously optimistic about.

“So,” Louis says, most of the beers he’d brought later. “What’s up with you and Niall, then?”

“Nothing.” Zayn says shortly, and gets up. “Anyone want popcorn?”

“Really?” Liam says, ignoring the question. “Because that’s not what it looks like.”

“Not even a little,” Louis agrees. “I know what you look like when you’re crazy into someone, mate, and that’s how you look at Niall.”

“And how he looks at you,” Liam adds. “It’s adorable.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Zayn makes to go for the kitchen, but Liam shifts, so he’s blocking the way around the couch. “Sorry.” His smile isn’t at all repentant.

“What happened to you being the nice one?” he asks. He could go over the back of the couch, but he’s not sure he’s desperate enough for that.

“You left, we had to switch. You weren’t there to be the smart one anymore.” Louis’s voice is light, but he’s staring at Zayn like he’s looking for a reaction. “Liam had to lose some of his niceness to take that role over.”

“Louis.” Liam’s voice is stern, and Louis’s glare flicks away. “What he means,” Liam continues, lighter, “Is that he’s finally finished corrupting me. So. What’s up with you and Niall?”

“Nothing,” Zayn repeats.

“Bullshit.” Louis shakes his beer bottle at him. “You adopted a cat together. That’s basically marriage.”

Zayn stares. “There are so many things wrong with that statement.”

“There are, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Liam pushes gently at Zayn, and he ends up sitting back down, somehow. Had they been like this before? This seamless double teamed attack? It had never been spoken before, but he’d always known he was the center of their trio, once upon a time—closer to Louis and Liam both than they were to each other. Now he’s the one looking on. “I thought the writing on the wall was clear weeks ago. And then there was that thing on open mic night. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says, for the third time, but—but he’s been lonely for months, and he thinks he’s hardwired to trust these two. He sighs, and leans back into the chair. Pelé jumps onto his lap, so he scratches over the kitten’s head. “It almost did. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Is Niall not good enough for you?” Louis throws it at him, suddenly accusatory again.

“No. Of course not,” Zayn snaps at Louis. “No, it’s…” he trails off, looking down at Pelé as he kneads his claws into Zayn’s jeans. “I can’t fuck this up again.”

“Fuck what up? You’ve fucked up a lot of things.”

“Louis!”

“Well he has.” Louis kicks his legs up onto the coffee table, carefully reaching over Rhino. “Remember in year seven when he almost got us caught putting dye in the pool? Or in year ten when he did get us caught smoking?”

“That was you!” Zayn protests. “You were the one who thought it’d be a good idea to break a bloody window—”

“You were supposed to stop me, that was your job, to be smart enough to know not to—”

“I was high out of my mind, how was I supposed to do that?”

“Well you were the smart one.”

“Yeah, and Liam was the responsible one, so he should have stopped us.”

“Yeah, so maybe that one is his fault,” Louis agrees, and they both grin at Liam, who sighs, and takes a resigned sip of his beer.

“Can you two go back to fighting?” he asks. Louis laughs.

“I’m sure we will. Especially because—seriously Zayn,” and his face is intent now. “What don’t you want to fuck up? Niall’s a great guy.”

“I know.” That’s the problem. “But he works for me, technically. And I’ve already fucked up one workplace because of my relationship problems, and I can’t fail at this too.”

Louis looks at him blankly. “You know Niall isn’t Rose, right? And the pub isn’t the clinic where you worked.”

“Isn’t it?” Zayn snorts. “If I did start something with Niall, when it broke, do you really think everyone wouldn’t take sides? Then someone would be uncomfortable and get driven away? Isn’t that how it works? And then I know I can’t run the pub on my own, and I can’t leave it, so either way I’m fucked. And Niall—” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt him, either.”

“Zayn.” Liam kicks at Zayn’s leg until he looks up. Liam’s just looking at him, all earnest brown eyes, like he had when Zayn was eighteen and freaking out over his A Levels, or fifteen and freaking out over coming out. A simple, unconditional belief—or so Zayn had thought. “Lou’s right, Niall’s not Rose. If things got fucked up, you’d find a way to work together again. He’s good at that.”

“So you don’t want to leave again?” Louis inserts, but before Zayn can snap back, he goes on, “As far as I can tell, you didn’t fuck anything up anyway. Rose was the one who ran off and decided that whatever promises you made weren’t worth anything, and then your fuckwads of friends were the ones who ditched you. Nothing you did.”

“But if I—”

“Nothing you did,” Louis interrupts, and drops his feet. Rhino makes a noise of protest, and gets up to wander away, but Louis doesn’t pay him any mind, just glares at Zayn like he could implant whatever he had to say through the force of his mind. That was always them, the one-two punch of Liam and Louis—Liam’s faith earnest and steady, Louis’s burning and fierce, and Zayn caught between the two of them. “She fucked up. Whatever you did to her, why ever you didn’t work out, she was the one who got married in bloody Vegas. And Niall would never do that.”

“I know, but he’s…he is like Rose,” Zayn tries to explain. They weren’t there, is the problem. They didn’t really understand. They only know the him in this town, not the him of London. They don’t know what it felt like to have his engagement fail, and his work crash around him, and then his grandfather die too. They don’t know what he has to prove, or the fears he tries to keep deep in his belly. “He’s…like, he’s free, like she is? And that’s a thing I liked about them both, that neither of them, like, got bogged down with shit like I do, but it means…it means I bog them down with my shit, and then they go.”

Louis laughs. Liam kicks him, but he’s still laughing, sharp and almost cruel. “You think Niall doesn’t get bogged down with shit?” he asks, after he’s laughed long enough Tigger’s come over to see what’s going on. “He just hides it better than you, mate. He gets bogged down all the time. You should have seen him when he first came here; he was proper lost over his knee and not being able to play anymore. I don’t know what he’d have done if Walter hadn’t given him a job.”

Zayn stops petting Pelé long enough that the cat makes a demanding noise. “Really?” he asks. “He’d mentioned he wasn’t happy about it, but it—nothing seems to affect him.”

“It’s not ours to tell,” Liam says, with a meaningful look at Louis that has Louis rolling his eyes. “But yeah. He doesn’t show a lot of what’s going on, Niall doesn’t. But you know there’s more there than, like, an American frat bro, right?”

“Yeah.” Of course Zayn does. He’s seen his anger over his knee even, and the competence with which Niall handles everything in the pub, and how he listens to Zayn. The way he watches and watches until he knows what’s going on, and doesn’t act before that; how he adores his friends. He knows there’s more to Niall than meets the eye. But there’s still the part of Zayn that sees too many similarities to Rose, too many ways that Zayn could be too boring for Niall, drag him down.

“Good. So get on that, yeah? Before I shove you two into a closet.” Louis sets down his beer. “Got anything to eat?”

Zayn goes to bed smiling, after seeing Louis and Liam out the door. Things aren’t fixed there, not completely, but it feels like something else settling into place.

The phone ringing wakes him up. It’s still dark out, he notices blearily, groping for his phone to stop it making so much noise. When he hits the receive button, he only vaguely notes the time before bringing it to his ear. Three am is not the time for phone calls unless he’s on call. He’d thought being back here meant maybe he could sleep, once in a while.

“What?”

“Zayn!” Not even Niall’s voice can make him smile at three in the morning. “Hi! It’s Zayn,” he tells someone, and Zayn can hear laughter, then something jumbles the phone.

“Hi, Zayn?” It’s a voice Zayn doesn’t quite recognize. “It’s Sean, I’m a friend of Niall’s. Sorry to wake you, he’s off his face.”

“Oh.” Zayn’s actually going to kill Niall, he doesn’t care about feelings. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he just—” Sean cuts himself off, as if he’s suddenly talking to someone else. “Niall, you just woke the man up at ass o’clock, you don’t want to talk to—okay, fine.”

“Zayn!” It’s Niall’s voice again, loud and excited. “You shoulda come out tonight, it’s been a blast.”

“Sounds like it.” Zayn scoots up the bed, so he can lean against the headboard. “Did you need something, babe?”

Niall takes a breath loud enough to hear through the phone. “Are we using pet names now? Can I use a pet name for you? I’ll call you petal, I think.”

“Niall,” Zayn says again, but he’s smiling, he can’t help it. “Why did you call?”

“Can’t I want to hear your voice, petal?” Niall laughs at himself. “You said you can sing, I’m still waiting to hear that.”

“Okay. What do you need?” He’s smiling, but Zayn would also like to get back to sleep sometime.

“I—I’m drunk,” He tells Zayn, like he couldn’t tell. “And I’m at someone’s house but I drove and I’m ready to go home and Harry’s not picking up, so—do you think—Sean doesn’t want me to stay, so could you come get me?” Zayn looks out the window. It’s pitch black.

He sighs, and gets out of bed. “Okay, babe. Can you put Sean back on?”

“Why do you want to talk to Sean? Do you not want to talk to me?”

Zayn laughs despite himself, as he pulls sweatpants on. “I always want to talk to you, babe. But I need to talk to someone sober too.”

“Sean’s not sober!” Niall objects, but there’s more noise, then,

“We can manage getting home, you don’t have to come get him,” Sean says. “He called you to come before I could stop him, sorry.”

“It’s fine, I can get him. I’m up anyway. Where are you?”

Sean tells him, assures him there’s no hurry, then hangs up. Zayn pulls a beanie on, grabs his wallet so he can drive Niall’s car home, and heads out.

The place where Niall and Sean are is a fifteen minute’s walk from Zayn, but it’s long enough at three in the morning to wish that there were ubers around here. As there aren’t, and he still hasn’t gotten around to getting a car, he has to walk through the early morning chill. It’s something he’d never do in London—here he’s pretty sure he’s not going to get mugged, at least.

The address Sean gave him is easy to find—it’s the only house in the row with the lights still on, though it’s not very loud. Zayn knocks on the door, finds it open, and walks in.

It doesn’t seem to quite be a party—there aren’t enough people there for that—but there’s definitely more people around than who lives there. Still, it’s few enough that Zayn only gets a few steps in before, “Zayn!” a cry comes, and Niall throws himself at his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders like he always is. He’s warm, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright. The way he’s leaning on Zayn, Zayn’s not sure how much of it is affection and how much of it is not being able to stand. “You came. Sean!” he tells the man who comes up with him, a massive burly man with what looks like a habitual smile on his face. “Have you met Zayn?”

“We spoke on the phone,” Sean laughs, but it’s fondly. He nods at Zayn. “I could’ve dealt with him, but I’m not exactly sober m’self, so…”

“It’s okay, Zayn’s here now,” Niall announces. “Come here, you should meet people. Shonda’s a professional golfer! I should learn how to golf,” he goes on, towing Zayn towards the living room. “That wouldn’t mess with my knee, right?”

Zayn laughs, but he stands his ground. “Didn’t you want to go home?”

“Did I?” Niall’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“It sounds like it’s time for you to get some sleep, though,” Zayn tells him. He’s been the sober friend plenty of times, he knows how to do this. “If you called me you’re ready, so let’s go.”

Niall leans in close, so his lips are nearly brushing Zayn’s skin. He probably thinks he’s whispering as, “Sean wants to hook up with Shonda, that’s why he can’t take me home.”

Sean laughs, but he shoves at Niall and nearly pushes him over. “Say it louder, won’t you?”

“Sean—” Niall starts, laughing, but Zayn interrupts him before he can.

“Yeah, babe, definitely time to go.”

“Did you know that they’ve played golf on the moon?” Niall asks. His free hand starts to wave excitedly. “Alan Shepard did, in 1971. You think other astronauts have done that yet? I’d have to play golf in space, if I got up there..”

Zayn thinks he might be able to understand half of what Niall’s talking about, but he’s flushed and excited and he can’t help the fondness welling in him, even at three am.

But it’s also three AM, and Niall’s clearly not standing up, and it’s time for them to go.

“Time to go,” he repeats. “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk. I’m Irish, I can hold my liquor.” Niall lets go of Zayn, and stumbles. “Okay. Maybe not. But I’ll be fine.”

“Want a piggy back ride?” Zayn offers. It’ll be the easiest way to get him to his car, he thinks.

Niall’s eyes light up. “I never say no to that,” he laughs, and when Zayn turns around he boosts himself up easily. “Onward!” he waves head of him, and Zayn dodges his hand, laughing.

Niall goes quiet as they leave the house, slumping down over Zayn’s shoulder. He’s not light—Zayn’s glad he only has to go as far as Niall’s car—but he’s warm, like having a blanket draped over him, one that’s mumbling things about golf and football and the people he’d met and Zayn.

Zayn finds his car easily enough, then deposits Niall into the passenger side. “Can you give me your keys?”

“Here you go, petal.” Niall hands them over. “Do you know how to drive? Louis said you took a long time to learn.”

“I have a license, yeah.” Zayn gets in, then realizes he doesn’t exactly have a plan. “Do you want to go back to mine, or want me to go to yours?”

“Um.” Niall’s eyes flick nervously over Zayn. “Can I go home?”

Zayn can understand that need, though it’s more annoying for him. “Yeah. Just tell me your address, okay?”

Niall does. It’s not far, by car at least, and Niall keeps chattering all along the drive, because apparently he’s a chatty drunk. It’s cute. Especially as his chatty focuses hard on one thing, so he’s going on a rant about the prime minister.

Niall’s sober enough to walk again by the time they get to his, but he’s leaning on Zayn as they get to his flat. Luckily it’s on the first floor of the converted Victorian, so they don’t have to worry about stairs.

It’s a very nice flat—not expensive, Zayn doesn’t think, but it’s neat and clearly loved, with thought put into the décor. Zayn has plenty of time to look around, after he deposits Niall in his bedroom and goes to the kitchen to get him a glass of water—the kitchen’s up to date, all the dishes clean and the cupboards organized. It’s a comfortable space, Zayn thinks, filling up a glass. Everything in its place, but not like it can’t be moved if the need is there.

He takes the glass back to the bedroom. It’s similarly nice, no clothes on the floor but art on the walls. It feels like a home. Like somewhere Niall put thought into staying.

Rose had never put thought into their flat. To her it was a place for their stuff to rest while she went out to explore, to find the people that were important. And Zayn shouldn’t be thinking of her anyway, when Niall’s managed to get himself under his blankets.

“Come on, you’ve got to drink this.”

Niall blinks up at him, taking the water. The sheets falls down to his waist, but Zayn’s not thinking about that now. “Did someone just make you in a lab?” he asks. His eyes are bleary. “How are you like this?”

“Nope, made in my mum’s womb like the rest of us.” Zayn chuckles. “Are you okay now? All set?”

“Yeah, ‘m good. Are you—you should stay,” Niall mumbles. He tries to let go of the glass; Zayn catches it and sets it on the bedside table. “Don’t go. Stay.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear it. “You should stay.”

Zayn shifts back, so he can’t touch Niall. “You’re drunk, Niall. I’m not doing anything.”

“Not—couch,” Niall says. He’s slurring more, but Zayn thinks it’s because he’s mostly asleep. “Don’t want you to go. Want to keep you.” He shakes his head again. “You’re so much, it’s all so much. Don’t want to lose you. But it’s so much. I don’t like it, it’s too much, it could be too much.”

“I’ll try to be less,” Zayn assures him, because it seems like the thing to say, even if he’s not sure what it means. “If you’re dying, call me.”

“Aye aye,” Niall mumbles, and Zayn closes the door behind him.

The couch is comfortable, especially after Zayn snoops around a bit to find a blanket, but it’s quiet without the dogs and cats. Still, Zayn falls asleep fast, not thinking about Niall’s face as he told him he should stay.

\---

Zayn wakes up slowly, to the smell of coffee and the sun on his face. It’s so novel, after years of being woken up by various dogs or cats or alarms, that he almost doesn’t recognize it as waking up. He must still be dreaming.

But then he opens his eyes to the unfamiliar flat, and no, he realizes. He’s not dreaming. Unless he’s dreaming he’s in Niall’s flat, and he doesn’t think he is, because he doesn’t think he could make it up, and he definitely wouldn’t know the detail of the Golf magazine open on the coffee table in front of him.

So he’s awake. And it’s late enough that the sun’s pouring in through Niall’s big windows. Which means that there are animals at home that Zayn needs to get to, so he gets up, stretching. The flat’s bright in the daylight, which somehow Zayn’s not surprised about—Niall would need natural light—and open, without clutter like Zayn just seems to accumulate. By the smell of coffee, he assumes someone’s awake, so he shoves his phone—dead, of course—and wallet back into his pocket, and heads towards the sounds so he can say goodbye.

Sure enough, Niall’s in the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, the paper open in front of him, and he’s wearing glasses as he reads it. Zayn blinks, but it’s still there, he didn’t make the image up out of some sort of domestic wet dream. Niall’s wearing glasses, dark thick frames that make him look somehow totally different and totally the same. Zayn…can handle that.

"Hey.”

Niall looks up, and smiles like seeing Zayn is the best thing in the world. It sets Zayn’s head spinning as much as the morning has. “Morning.”

“Feeling okay?”

Niall laughs. “Yeah, I‘m good. Irish constitution, I say.” He glances away from Zayn for a second, then back. “Thanks for taking me home and all.”

“No problem. Always there when you need it.” Zayn rubs at the back of his neck, when Niall glances away at that. “I should, like. Get home to walk the dogs and shit.”

“Oh. I, well.” Now it’s Niall’s turn to look sheepish. “I actually called Harry, asked if he’d drop by and walk your dogs? So I could make you breakfast as thanks for last night.”

“Does he have a key?”

“He’s your landlord, so I’d hope so.” Niall laughs again, nervous. “Is that okay? If I overstepped I’m sorry, but you just seemed tired and I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh.” It’s early. Zayn’s not good at processing things early when it’s not an emergency, but he nods. “No, yeah, that’s great. I mean, you didn’t have to, but yeah. Can I just text Harry?”

“Sure?” Niall tilts his head. “You don’t need my permission?”

“Phone’s dead.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Niall digs his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, then hands it to Zayn. The background is what looks like a football field.

“You realize you’re a cliché, right?” Zayn asks. He texts Harry quickly to warn him about Pelé’s escaping habits and to ask that he make sure to put the cats’ food too high for the dogs to get at, then hands the phone back to Niall.

“I’m comfortable as that.” Niall agrees. “Now, want food? I’ve made waffle batter, but I only have regular bacon, sorry. If I’d known you were coming over I’d have gotten turkey bacon.”

“Oh.” Zayn blinks. He hadn’t expected that.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” Niall asks. “Walter talked about you, and I’ve noticed what you order. No pork, right?” He gets up, setting down the paper so he can go to the fridge, pull out a bowl of what looks like batter. “Everything’s halal, as far as I can tell.”

“Thanks.” Of course Niall would notice. Zayn’s not even surprised.

“You can pour yourself some coffee. Mug’s in the same cupboard as the glasses, milk and sugar’s on the table,” Niall goes on. He crouches down to pull out a waffle iron.

Zayn does as he’s told, then leans against the counter and drinks his coffee, watching as Niall putters around the kitchen.

“Can I help?”

“Nope.” Niall grins over his shoulder, then goes back to pouring the batter in with a careful hand. “No, this is a thank you. You can’t help.”

“You really don’t have to. It wasn’t anything.”

“I woke you up at three, I do have to.” Niall closes the iron, and turns so he can look at Zayn too. His gaze flicks over his messy hair, down to where his tattoos are probably showing under his tank top, then back to his face. “Um. If you want to shower or anything, I can lend you clothes, or…”

“Niall.” Zayn has to reach out, put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah.” Niall takes a breath, then he grins. “Just being a good host. After I made you sleep on the couch, with whatever blanket you found.”

“You were a little out of it.” Zayn can’t resist the tease. “I now know more about golf than I ever have before. And the economics of scale in Ireland.”

Niall goes a little red, but he laughs. “Not the most embarrassing thing I’ve rambled about when drunk,” he admits. “You didn’t have to come get me, though. Sean would’ve been fine. Or I could have crashed there.”

“Of course I did.” Niall makes some sort of face, so Zayn take another sip of his coffee. “I wasn’t going to leave you there. And anyway,” he adds, “This way I get free breakfast.”

“I see why you like me, Malik,” Niall replies, and opens up the iron. He takes the waffle out with a fork, puts it on a plate. “Here, this is yours. Whatever you want on it is in the fridge too.”

“Thanks.” Zayn gets the syrup and butter out, sets it on the table, then takes a seat as Niall makes his own waffle. At Niall’s urging, he doesn’t wait, but starts to eat. It’s good, and the atmosphere makes it better.

“I like your flat,” Zayn says, when Niall sits down with his own waffle. “Even if it doesn’t allow pets.”

Niall shrugs. “It’s not much, but you know, if my boss would pay me more I could afford a bigger place…”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head, and gets up to get himself more coffee. “No, it’s nice. Everything’s in its place. It’s like the pub, you know? Everything’s got a place where it belongs here.” He chuckles a little. “Shit, that sounded pretentious.”

“A bit,” Niall agrees, but he sounds distracted, and Zayn turns around. Niall’s watching him, something in his gaze like it had been back when Zayn was sure Niall hated him, evaluating. Like he’s looking for the heart of Zayn.

“What?” Zayn asks, shifting.

Slowly, Niall nods, as if to himself. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” Zayn sits back down, hooks his foot around Niall’s ankle as a question mark. “I won’t judge if you were staring at my ass, I promise.”

It gets Niall to laugh. “No. That was just—fuck, that was exactly the right thing to say.” He drums his fingers over the edge of the table. “Fucking hell.”

“I can take it back?” Zayn’s not exactly sure what’s happening here, but he clearly said something to make Niall uncomfortable.

“No, don’t do that. Just.” Niall takes a thoughtful bite of his waffle. “Zayn. You know I think you’re brilliant, right? Or, it’s not just that I think so, it’s that you are. As a vet, as a person, as a pub owner, whatever. You’re brilliant at everything you want to be.”

Zayn knows he’s blushing, and he looks down into his coffee cup. This is worse even than Liam’s earnestness, Niall’s matter of fact praise, the light in those blue eyes. “Says the man who had to help me because he couldn’t stand my incompetence.”

“You tried. You’ve been trying so hard, at everything you set out to, and that’s brilliant too, you know?” Niall draws in a breath, like he wants to say something more, then lets it out slowly. “Anyway. I just wanted to say that.”

“Well, thanks. You’re brilliant too,” Zayn agrees, because he is.

“What, I don’t get a speech?” Niall teases, and Zayn sticks out his tongue, and gets down to breakfast.

\---

“Nah, it’s overpriced.” Zayn’s leaning against the door into the kitchen. Apparently the one thing that makes Mary less intimidating is her cat Sir Galahad. “Like, that cat food’ll do its job, sure, but you don’t need it. It sounds like Galahad just might be a little overfed, not unhealthy.”

“Okay.” Mary nods, pursing her lips together. “And so making him fish meals should probably stop?”

Zayn doesn’t laugh, just smiles. “Not necessarily. Those can be healthy. Just cut down on how much, and make sure the fish isn’t fatty.”

“Yeah, give him the good quality stuff!” Niall agrees, popping his head through the door. He grins at Mary, then smiles at Zayn. It’s definitely a different smile, one that he’s been giving Zayn a lot since that night a few weeks ago Zayn took him home. Or maybe he’s just noticed it since then. Zayn doesn’t know. Now, though, it’s that, plus something apologetic. “Zayn…”

“Yeah, I know.” Zayn makes a face at Mary, who unwinds enough to laugh at him. “I’ve got to make that call.”

“I don’t mean to nag, but we’ve got to get this order sorted out, and you wanted to do it.” Niall holds out a phone, the number already dialed. “Now stop flirting over your cats, and let Mary do her job.”

“Such a ball and chain,” Zayn teases, as he takes the phone. Niall makes a face back, but his hand slides over Zayn’s waist as Zayn leaves—an aimless, lingering touch that makes Zayn shiver a little. He doesn’t want to think about that. About how instead of shying away from him, Niall’s been leaning in. How he’s been hanging out in the afternoons when they’re both off at Zayn’s, playing with Pelé and going on what looks like some sort of campaign to neaten up Zayn’s flat. Zayn’s not sure if he’s teasing on purpose, making Zayn ache with what he knows he can’t have, shouldn’t have, but if he is it’s working. It’s like more of that domestic wet dream, how they move around each other to make lunch, how Zayn will spend mornings reading on the couch while Niall plays with the dogs or cats with the TV on to some game down low because ‘I have to be able to at least see if something happens, Zayn!’ Then at work, Niall’s always there to lighten the crushing load, to make Zayn laugh when numbers flood in front of his eyes and the various parts stop making sense at all.

But despite the tease, despite how it makes Zayn wonder if Harry and Louis and Liam were right, that Niall isn’t Rose and he won’t cage him in before he remembers that he can’t waver on this—it makes him happy. To have the flat filled with Niall, sometimes with Louis or Liam or Harry too. To have Niall grin at him, or tell him ridiculous jokes he got from Harry to make Zayn laugh, or to tell Niall funny stories to get him to laugh, big and loud.

Zayn’s thinking of that, and smiling, when he gets on the phone with the vendor.

Almost an hour later, he’s got a hand in his hair and is half a second away from either screaming or crying, he’s not sure which. “You can’t just change the contract like that!” he insists. “You agreed on that price with Walter, you can’t just change it—”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the women’s crisp, sharp voice replies, like it has every time, “That’s not our policy. Our price has gone up. We can’t budge.”

That’s it. Zayn’s been on the phone for an hour and she hasn’t even budged and won’t talk and it’s bullshit, is what it is, corporate bullshit that thinks they can take advantage just because they’re a small place and they’ve been selling to Walter at the same price for fifty fucking years. “That’s bu—”

“Okay.” There’s a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, and Niall’s easing the phone from his hand. “Tag me in, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for Zayn to answer, just brings the phone to his ear. “Hi, Nancy, isn’t it? How’s your day been?”

Zayn blinks. He’s still seething, enough that he wants to go out and punch a wall, or do—just do something. Do something other than yell at people, or fail to yell at people. Something so that he can actually take care of this place, so that he can make it work. So he can do something.

But he can’t, because he can’t even negotiate for fucking peanuts with some faceless woman. He can’t do that and he knows Niall’s still going over his figures every week to fix his fuck ups and he doesn’t have good ideas to help and now Niall’s chatting with the woman, wandering around the room in circles, but he’s getting somewhere. Two minutes, and he’s gotten farther than Zayn in forty-five.

Zayn watches, his fists curled into frustrated fists, as Niall chats and negotiates, until Niall hangs up with a, “Great, email us the documents and we can sign the new contract. Thanks! And go Derby, yeah?” He turns to Zayn. “Even got the price down a bit! Good thing she was a Derby fan, don’t know what I’d have done if she was a Liverpool woman—you okay?”

Zayn’s staring at Niall, he knows. Like he knows it’s not his fault, not Niall’s fault that he’s good at this and can do it and it’s Zayn’s place, Walter trusted him with this, and if Niall wasn’t here Zayn would have run it into the ground by now. That Zayn can’t fucking do this, that he’s going to fail at this and Niall’s standing there, all golden and competent and what Walter probably wanted Zayn to be.

“I’ve got to go,” Zayn mutters. He needs to leave before he lashes out at Niall, when it’s not Niall he’s furious at it’s himself. “I—you can open. I’ve got to—” he shakes his head, and stalks off, ignoring Niall’s yell of his name behind him.

Zayn ends up back at his flat. It’s at least a refuge, where he doesn’t have to know the shit he’s made of everything; where Tigger climbs into his lap and Rhino flops his head onto his knee, with Pelé darting around the floor. At least he hasn’t failed them.

He scratches his hand over Rhino’s head, trying to breathe. At least Niall covered his ass, again. Nothing’s actually gone wrong. Just Zayn and his inability to do it right.

He looks up at the knock on his door. “Zayn?” Niall calls, through the door. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alive. If you don’t want to talk, I can go away.”

Zayn doesn’t want to talk, really, but he can’t turn Niall away. Niall doesn’t deserve that.

“It’s open,” he calls back, and Niall opens the door.

He looks concerned, but his lips curve into a brief smile when he sees Zayn, before it disappears into concern again as he closes the door behind him and sits down next to Zayn on the couch. Harley takes that as his opportunity to flop onto his feet.

“Okay?” Niall asks quietly.

Zayn runs his hand over Tigger’s side, not looking at Niall. “The pub is, because you’re here.”

“You’d have managed it. I just smoothed it over a little.”

“No.” Zayn looks up, so he can look Niall in the eyes as he says it. It’s nothing new. He’d forgotten a little, because he was happy and had Niall, but it’s true, and he’s known it since he got back. “No, I wouldn’t have, because I’m shit at running a pub, you know that. I’m shit at it and I’m going to fail and ruin it because that’s what I do, and I can’t even make a fucking call without someone else to help and I’m not getting any fucking better at it no matter how hard I try and it’s just—I don’t know why Walter left me the place anyway, I’m the least qualified person to own it, and I’m just going to ruin it and it’s just—fuck. Just for once I’d like to win something. Just once more. Just to not be a fucking failure at everything.”

It comes out of him in a torrent, months of frustration and anger and fear that he’s been holding in for months. Zayn squeezes his eyes shut so none of the angry tears that are hinting at his eyes come out, and when he opens them, Niall’s studying him again, with that evaluating gaze.

He waits until he sees Zayn’s eyes are open again before he speaks. “You aren’t a failure, Zayn.”

“Really?” Zayn spits it, angry enough that Rhino lifts up his head in concern. “You out of everyone knows how incompetent I’ve been.”

“You’ve been learning,” Niall replies evenly. “It’s not easy, Zayn. And I do know, and I can tell how hard you’ve been trying, and that’s not failure.” Zayn snorts. “It’s not!” Niall repeats. “The pub’s doing well, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem like failure to me.”

“Yeah, because you’re there. I’ve got nothing to do with it. And then you’re going to leave, and it’s all going to go to shit.” Niall opens his mouth, but Zayn shakes his head. It’s true, he’s realizing. He’s been treading water, but it’s only that. And he’s—he’s been happy, sort of, but he doesn’t know how long he can keep that up.

He sits up, slowly. “Something has to change,” he says, and it feels like when he left the clinic and decided never to look back. “I need to change something. Maybe I should just give up. Go back to London, or go to Bradford, or something. I can’t keep feeling like this.”

“You can’t leave!” Niall bursts out, then promptly turns bright red before he swallows. “I mean. Don’t leave. You don’t have to leave.”

“I know I don’t have to, but…” Zayn trails off, runs his hand over Tigger’s fur. She’ll always love him, no matter what. “I don’t know. Staying is…yeah, and leaving will be giving up. And failing Walter, and I can’t do that.” He groans. “I don’t know. It’s shit. It’s been shit for months.”

Niall nods slowly, his fingers curling in the edge of his shirt. He’s not denying that Zayn’s never going to be able to figure this out, he’s noticing, which isn’t comforting, though not surprising. “I—there’s something I’ve been playing with, that I want you to think about.”

“Sure. I owe you that.” Zayn waves a hand.

“You don’t love running the pub.” Zayn opens his mouth to protest—he likes it well enough, even if he’s not good at it—but Niall keeps going. His gaze is so very steady and knowing, like he’s seen into the heart of Zayn and knows what’s there. No one’s ever looked at Zayn like that, not Rose, not anyone. “You love the pub, but not running it. It’s—you’re getting better, and you can do it, I know you can, but you hate it, really. This is what you love.”

“Sitting in my flat?”

“Animals. Being a vet.” Niall smiles softly. “I’ve never seen you as happy running the pub as you were when you were helping Maria, or talking to Mary about her cat, or just with animals, Zayn. That’s what you love to do.”

“Yeah, well. That didn’t work out either, did it? I’ll need to find something—”

“That didn’t work out once.” Zayn jerks. He’s hasn’t heard Niall speak so sharply since the first few days. His expression is serious now. “Zayn, I’ve actually lost something I loved like that. I can’t play anymore. It’ll never happen, and I’ve had to accept that, but You—you can still do what you love.”

“I’m not going back to the clinic in London.” That, Zayn’s sure of.

“There are more places to be a vet than just London.” The way Niall says it, it sounds so matter of fact. But somehow it’s not something that’s ever connected, to Zayn. Being a vet, working in a clinic, that’s part of his London life, with Rose and everyone there. It’s all one thing.

“See,” Niall continues, “I’ve been—well, I wasn’t sure you’d want to stay, and I wanted …I’ve been thinking.” He laughs a little, like he’s covering something up. Zayn’s never seen him nervous, like this. He’s always seemed so sure. Except maybe for that moment, behind the bar. But now he is, and he’s letting Zayn see it, and that makes Zayn keep listening.

“You’ve been fielding these questions about people’s pets for weeks now,” Niall says. “There’s clearly an opening here—people don’t want to go an hour away for the nearest vet, or worse, emergency care.” Niall’s fingers drum over his thigh. “I ran some numbers, with what information I could find online. I think it’s feasible for you to open a clinic here. You might need to take out loans for start up costs, but it’d work.”

Zayn stares. He had the pub. That was why he was here, for the pub, for Walter’s legacy. Being a vet was for London. He couldn’t have both.

“But—the pub.”

“Well.” Niall’s still steady, but his fingers are still moving “I’ve been—I wasn’t saving for this exactly, but I’ve got actually a lot of money saved up, and I was considering…I talked to some other investors, and—if you wanted to do this, I could buy it. I have enough. And it would give you seed money.” Niall’s words are speeding up, almost too fast for Zayn’s whirring brain to process. “It’s—I know you want the pub to stay in the family, but I love it, Zayn, I do, and you don’t. I’d keep the name and everything, we could even write it into the contract. And this way we could both do what we want.”

Zayn can hardly breathe. Selling the pub feels unthinkable, like Walter’s ghost would rise up and haunt him forever. Starting his own clinic feels unthinkable, another thing to invest in that would fail. “Niall, I—” he shakes his head, more to clear it than anything. “I can’t—I can’t just fail like that, that’s—”

“It’s not failing!” Niall snaps again. “It’s changing tacks. And sometimes you have to do that, because shit doesn’t always work out like you want.” Niall pushes Harley away so he can stand up, like he’s got too much nervous energy to sit down. “Look, Zayn, I never thought I’d be here either. But sometimes your plans don’t work out, and you need new ones. That’s not failing. That’s just life.”

“It is failing!” Zayn retorts. He needs to stand up too, and Tigger jumps out of his lap just in time. “I set out to do it and it didn’t work, that sounds like failing. Like my engagement. Like the clinic in London. Like—”

“Those weren’t your failures.” Niall sounds fierce, intense. Zayn hadn’t known he could, hadn’t really seen more than hints of this under his carefree exterior. But now it’s here, and for Zayn. “Those were other people fucking you over and you reacting to that. This is making a way to do something else you love, and that’s not failure. It’s just—how to move on.” Niall runs his hand over his flushed cheeks, up into his hair. “It’s what you have to do.”

Zayn looks at him, with his face intent and his hands raised like he can get Zayn to understand through his gestures alone. He’d been fucked up too, Louis’d said. And now he’s here. And now Zayn’s here, and now that the possibility is laid in front of him he can picture it, a clinic of his own. Niall running the pub, and Walter would approve of that, he thinks. Walter’d loved him, by all accounts. And he’d want Zayn to be happy. Is that failure?

“Okay.”

“You don’t—what?” Niall stills.

“Okay. That—yeah. It’s a good idea.”

“Just like that?” Now the intensity has lessened into shock. “You don’t want to see my numbers, or anything?”

“I guess I should, when we figure out prices and go to lawyers and shit, but I trust you.” Zayn shrugs. “And—yeah. I want that.”

“Oh.” Niall’s clearly floundering now, backtracking a little. The laughter’s probably because of that. “Um. Sorry for yelling, then.” The laughter dies, and his jaw sets again, with that same intensity, that same deep well of emotion. “But while I’m doing stupid things, and if you do want that—if you want to stay…”

It’s like déjà vu, watching Niall take the step towards Zayn, watching him slide his hands into Zayn’s hair, watching him near. Feeling him kiss Zayn, and there’s nothing tentative about it this time, just passion and need, and Zayn can’t help responding, it’s a bad idea but fuck he wants this, needs it, even if it’s just for now.

“Niall,” he pants, when his brain comes back. “Niall, I told you, this is a bad idea—”

“You said that,” Niall agrees. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed. Zayn wants to walk him back to the bedroom, slam the door behind them. Wants to taste each one of his freckles, wants to follow that blush down his neck and see how far it goes. He wants so much and it’s all a bad idea. That’s how everything goes wrong. “You said that, and I agreed because I was scared and couldn’t deal with it, but I—I’m not going anywhere, Zayn.” His hands are on Zayn’s waist now, and Zayn wants to keep them there, but instead he stumbles back. Away. This is a bad idea, he can’t do this.

“You will,” He tells Niall. “You—I’ll, like, confine you. Clip your wings, or whatever.”

“That’s bullshit.” It sounds believable, out of Niall’s mouth. Or maybe he just wants it to be. “I’m just as much a homebody as you, Zayn, or whatever else you’re worried about. I’m not going to run away to Vegas and fall in love with someone else.” Niall snorts. “I’ve done exactly two impulsive things in my life.”

“What?” Zayn has to ask. His head’s still spinning and he wants to believe Niall, but he doesn’t want to hurt him.

“Packed my shit into a bag and ran away after my knee gave out.” Niall’s gaze doesn’t falter. “And this.”

“And going to a house party of someone you don’t know, or playing an open mic—”

Niall waves away Zayn’s list. “Those aren’t things that matter. This does.” But now he’s moving away, and Zayn doesn’t want that either. “If I’m pushing and you aren’t ready, just tell me, that’s okay.” He smiles, just a bit, just enough to show it’s still Niall. “But if this is just because you’re scared that I’m like Rose—I’m not. I don’t do shit like that.”

“Why were you scared?” It’s all Zayn can think to say, to push at. To give himself time, because Niall’s picked him apart and he wants to do the same just to breathe.

Niall’s lips twist, and he brings his hand to his chest. “Because—” He swallows. “Because I like you, Zayn. A lot. Because it’d be easy for me to fall in love with you. I mean, you adopted a cat for me. You just—I had a crush on you before I met you, and you’re so much more than what everyone said about you.” His fingers are still moving, nervous. Anxious. “I’ve only fallen in love once before, and it was with football when I was five, and you know how that worked out, so it’s—yeah, it’s plenty scary. Scary that it’ll get out of my control, that I can’t plan for it.” His gaze is even as he looks at Zayn. Brave. “But I’m not going to not like you, so.” He grins again. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a boy, and all that.”

Zayn has to laugh at that, and it’s so sudden and unexpected it almost scares him. But of course Niall can make him laugh. Niall, who always somehow knows what he needs, who he never wants scared or anxious, who he wants to make smile all the time.

Like Niall’s said, he’s already taken one risk today. He’s already decided that his life is going in one different direction today. Why not make two? Why not make a stupid choice with Niall, who isn’t like Rose at all, who’s looking at Zayn in a totally different way than she used to, even when they were in love. Who is a person all his own, and who wants Zayn too, deep and unmoving, like Zayn loves.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding to himself. Niall’s watching him carefully, still enough away that he’s not pushing. Letting Zayn make his choices for himself, figure himself out. “Yeah,” He repeats, and then it’s him who’s going to Niall, and kissing him.

Niall breathes in, quick and harsh, but then he’s kissing Zayn back, pulling him close, frantic. It’s as good as Zayn remembers it, better sober, and Zayn sinks into it, into the feel of Niall’s lips and his hands on Zayn’s waist, until—

“Are you laughing?” he asks, pulling away. Niall is grinning, like he can’t contain it—Zayn probably looks the same way, but he’s not sure how he feels about Niall laughing while he’s kissing him.

“Sorry.” Niall doesn’t look very contrite. “But, I was wondering if Walter planned this. I think he might’ve, he was a sly old dog, and he did talk about you an awful lot.”

Zayn makes as pouty a face as he can. “So you’re laughing and thinking about my grandfather while we’re kissing? That’s pretty weird.”

“Fuck off,” Niall mutters, still laughing. “I’ll show you weird.” He reels Zayn back in, and this time he detours away from Zayn’s lips to his jaw, his neck, sucking and licking and Zayn doesn’t care about any marks he makes. It’s been too long since he’s been touched, and it’s Niall, with his careful hands and utter focus, and—

“What now?” he demands, when Niall stops with the place he’d found on Zayn’s neck that always works for him.

“There are too many eyes in this flat,” Niall complains. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this, our adopted cat’s watching.”

“What?” Zayn glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, there are two dogs and two cats sprawled out. “You know they come with me.”

“Yeah, but not right now.” Niall slides his hands to Zayn’s wrists. “Is there anywhere we can have privacy?”

Zayn grins, and walks Niall backwards, into the bedroom. “Yeah,” he says, shutting the door firmly so all the animals are on the other side. “I think we can manage that.”

\---

“Shouldn’t you be worrying about health codes?” Zayn asks, a second before his back hits the wall and Niall’s kissing him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Niall’s kisses, the focus he has, like he’s cataloguing every noise Zayn makes so he can figure out how to get him to make them again. It’s so good, Niall’s body pushing his against the wall and Zayn’s fingers messing up Niall’s hair, but Zayn’s in a good mood and he needs to be a little shit because he can, so when they come up for air again, “This isn’t very responsible behavior from the new owner.”

“You make me irresponsible,” Niall mutters. “And anyway, this is an office, there’s no food here.”

“It’s still in the building,” Zayn points out, totally belying his words by fumbling at Niall’s belt. He can’t be held responsible for his actions, Niall was in a suit for the reopening party. It’s like when Niall wears his glasses; Zayn’s warned him that he can’t be held accountable for what happens when Niall is wearing them. Niall calls him a nerd at that, which Zayn doesn’t deny, but he also thinks Niall has started wearing glasses more. “I’m pretty sure—fuck,” he moans, as Niall bites at the spot on his collarbone that always makes him weak.

“Shut up and let me celebrate,” Niall says, but he’s laughing as he tries to still his hips so Zayn can get his pants open properly. “I—wait a second. Better idea.” He steps back, and Zayn can’t protest before Niall’s tugging him across the room to the desk.

“I love your plans,” Zayn agrees. There’s very little hotter than Niall when he sets his mind to something, and Zayn likes this plan too, enough that he helps push Niall down into the desk chair. “Give you something to remember when you sit here, yeah?”

“Fuck, Zayn.” Niall swears, as Zayn sinks to his knees. “I didn’t—you get to celebrate too, this is for you too—”

“Don’t worry, this is for me.” Zayn’s finally got Niall’s pants open and his knees apart, his cock out. Zayn’s gotten familiar with it in the past month, but it doesn’t take away from the joy of Niall’s gasp as Zayn licks up the vein. He’s not Niall, hasn’t catalogued how to take Niall apart, but he’s a good student when he wants to be, and he’s mostly mastered this. It’s certainly inspiring, the reward of Niall’s flushed, wrecked face, the way he stares down at Zayn as he wraps his lips around his cock, like there’s nothing else in the world for Niall. It’s heady, and so is the weight of Niall’s cock, the little moans he makes as Zayn sucks him off. He’s loud when he’s getting off, Zayn’s learned—doesn’t talk much, but makes the most wonderful sounds. It looks even better here, in this place that is both of theirs, at the heart of it, with Niall in his crisp professional suit and just his cock out.

Niall’s hand slides over Zayn’s face as he licks and sucks like Niall likes, avoiding Zayn’s hair because he knows how much it annoys Zayn when it gets messed up. He doesn’t need to say anything; his touch is enough, and Zayn wraps his hand around the base where his mouth can’t reach to jerk Niall off as well.

“Fuck, Zayn, I’m—” Niall stutters, and Zayn just sucks harder until Niall comes in his mouth. He swallows as Niall sags back.

“You’re dangerous to my health,” Niall swears, and tugs him up to kiss him.

“Easier clean up,” Zayn explains, once he’s done. His cock’s aching, but he likes kissing Niall too, like this. Like they could do it forever, like Niall wants to do it forever. “Can’t have you getting your new office all messy.”

“Always looking out for me,” Niall kisses him again, then pats his hip. “My turn.”

“You shouldn’t be on your knee,” Zayn says, for what feels like the hundredth time. “It’s bad for it.”

“It’s almost like you don’t want to get blown,” Niall complains, rolling his eyes. Ever efficient, his hand’s already in Zayn’s pants somehow, thumbing over the head of Zayn’s dick so his head drops onto Niall’s shoulder, unable to keep it up. “Can’t I want to celebrate too? I’m the one with the most attractive boyfriend in the room, aren’t I?”

“Nope,” Zayn manages to mumble, “That’s me.”

Niall’s hand jerks, and Zayn doesn’t have to look to know he’s smiling the little smile he gets whenever Zayn compliments him. Zayn kisses his neck anyway, the nearest part he can get.

“Well, I want to anyway. Later, fine,” Niall agrees, before Zayn can object. “On a bed. When I can do it properly anyway, get you out of these jeans, maybe open you up so I can fuck you too.” Zayn can’t control his hips anymore, is just thrusting into Niall’s hand as he mouths at Niall’s neck so he’s not too loud. Niall’s ruthless like this, knows Zayn’s body too well already, knows exactly what buttons to press. “Come on, petal, come for me—”

Zayn does, because he can’t help it, his orgasm coming fast and hard. Niall keeps stroking until it’s too much, then moves his hand away as Zayn keeps kissing idly at his neck.

When his brain’s back, though, he lifts his head up and glares. “You need to stop with that nickname.”

“What, you don’t like it, petal?” Niall grins. “Sounded like you did.”

“You’re trying to train me,” Zayn objects. He settles back onto Niall’s thighs, so he can look at him properly. “I’m not a dog.”

“You’re the one who taught me how to train Pelé.” Niall doesn’t look properly sheepish, Zayn thinks, but he has to kiss him for that.

“Not a cat either.”

“Closer, though. But I’m applying those principles elsewhere.” Niall chuckles. He looks easier now too, less like the anxiety was going to overwhelm him like he had right before he signed the papers. Confident again. Though he holds up his hand, making a face. “Didn’t prepare for this, though.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, but he gets off Niall, tucks himself back in, and turns to look around for a towel of sorts. “You didn’t think we’d end up having sex in here?”

Niall shrugs. “I thought you’d have self-control.”

“Around you?” Zayn unearths a rag from the table where he’d probably thrown it after coming in here from the kitchen. Niall’s definitely going to make this place a lot more organized, but then they won’t find towels when they need them, will they? “Never.” He tosses Niall the towel, who nearly misses it, from how he’s beaming at Zayn.

Niall wipes off his hand, then pulls Zayn in for another kiss. “Everyone’s going to make fun of us,” he adds, leaning his head on Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn shrugs, and takes Niall’s hand. “It’s your night. Let them.”

Sure enough, when they come back out, Louis makes sure to catcall. They don’t even look that messy, they’d made sure of it, but Zayn just flips Louis off as Niall heads back into the crowd to gather more congratulations.

“Honestly, Zayn, you couldn’t keep it in your pants for five minutes?” Louis asks when Zayn sits down with him and Liam. Liam hands Zayn a beer, which he takes gratefully. It’ll mask his breath more than the mints he’d just swallowed. “And at your own party, too.”

“It’s Niall’s party, he can do what he wants, right?”

Louis shakes his head. “This is not the behavior of respectable members of the community. To think, our pub owner and our vet, engaging in such debauchery, what is this world coming to?”

“Be quiet,” Liam tells Louis. “How’s Vanessa working out?” he asks Zayn.

“She’s great.” Zayn would never have thought to hire Vanessa, but Liam had pointed out she wanted something more challenging, and she’s been invaluable as a secretary—really an office manager, until they get solid enough to differentiate between positions. She’s devastatingly efficient, more even than Niall was, so Zayn only has to make big decisions and think about his patients. “Thanks for her.”

“What else are friends for?” Louis asks, like he’s taking credit. “I think if you let Freddie visit you anymore to play with puppies, Zayn, you’re going to win favorite uncle.”

“Hey!” Liam objects, and Zayn laughs.

He goes to get another round once they’re ready. The pub’s crowded, all of Niall’s friends and people who love it. It’s nice. Walter would have liked it, Zayn thinks. And it’s nicer knowing Zayn doesn’t have to worry about it, that it’s not his responsibility, that he doesn’t have to talk or mingle or mediate. That’s what Niall’s good at. His job is elsewhere, and so he can enjoy it here, and that’s what he wants.

“You look happy.” Harry’s suddenly next to him. He’s bright eyed and flushed, like he’s already taken advantage of the way he’s very good at charming free drinks out of people, but he manages to sound thoughtful too.

“I am.” Zayn leans into Harry when he sidles closer.

“You don’t miss London?”

Zayn thinks about it. The bruise is almost faded, he thinks. He’ll always miss it a little. The person he’d been, the things he wanted. But he has a place here, and friends, old and new. He’s even gotten an overture from one of his London friends, apologizing for being too busy to check up on him and wondering if he’d get coffee if he’s ever in town.

“Not really,” he says slowly. “It’s done.”

“Good.” Harry turns his head to brush his lips over Zayn’s cheeks. “I’m glad you’re happy.” He follows his lips with a pat on the cheek, tracing Zayn’s cheekbones like he’d always used to. “That’s what I’ve always wanted for you.”

“You too,” Zayn returns. He’s going to ignore the part where Harry gave him the shovel talk a few weeks ago, when he and Niall started. He gets why that happened, and it was more amusing than anything else. Harry lost the ability to scare him around when Zayn’d seen him try to kiss Zayn on a flight of stairs and fall down them instead, back when they were fifteen.

“What’s this, then?” Niall asks, popping up behind the bar. He looks like he’s trying to glare, and it’s not working. “You trying to steal him back, Haz?”

“Nah, I’m done with him. You can have him.” Harry drops his hand, and sticks his tongue out at Niall and Zayn both, somehow. “Especially if you give me a shot of tequila, please.”

“Only because it’ll keep you away from Zayn,” Niall agrees, laughing, and then Harry’s distracted him as Zayn takes his and Liam and Louis’s next round from the bartender.

\---

Hours later, Zayn’s at the bar again, looking out over the empty pub. Everyone else has gone home; Niall just has to finish something up in back before they’ll go too.

He goes behind the bar, finds a clean rag, and starts to rub over the bar. Small circles, like his grandfather had taught him. Like Niall does too, every day. The pub still looks the same, even if Zayn’s changed. Even if Zayn’s got his work elsewhere, even if he isn’t here like his grandfather might have wanted. Even if his life had worked out differently than he’d expected when he was eighteen and ready to get out of this pub.

“Hey.” Niall’s arm wraps around his waist, his chin hooking over his shoulder. He’s warm against Zayn’s back. “Ready?”

Zayn gives the pub another look. It’s not his anymore. But that doesn’t really matter. It’s still a place where he belongs, filled with people he loves who love him back. And who knows, maybe it will come back into the family eventually. “Yeah,” he says, and sets down the rag. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to discuss? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/)


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